Fyodor Tyutchev
She was sitting on the floor...

She was sitting on the floor
sorting letters which were old,
holding them before she threw them out
like ash gone cold.

Her look was strange
while she held those pages she knew so well,
as if she were a soul which peered down
at its abandoned shell.

So many irreversible events,
such life fulfilled and filled
with minutes of love and joy across the years!
How many grief-packed minutes killed!

Silent, I stood to one side
and my knees were ready to bend
as a fearful sadness crept into my heart,
as if at the ghost of a dear, old friend!

Translated by Frank Jude