Anna Akhmatova
The Garden

The ice has covered up the garden,
It sparkles and it cracks.
The one who left me is disheartened
But there’s no coming back.

The sun’s now waning face grows dim –
A window and no more,
I clandestinely know whose twin
Caressed it long ago.

All sense of peace is vanquished here
As signs of woe arise,
And footprints from last night appear
Out of the thinning ice.

The waning face bows to the ground
Over the sleeping plains,
And, in the silent sky, die down
The cries of trailing cranes.

Translated by Andrey Kneller