Muse (Муза), Anna Akhmatova

akhmatova-muse

Akhmatova wrote this in 1924.

When I await her at the midnight hour
Then life appears to hang by slender strand.
Who cares for honour, youth or freedom’s power
When piping guest arrives with flute in hand?
And here she is – from cloak now extricated,
Attentively on me she casts her eye.
I say: “Was Dante’s Hell to you dictated
by bard himself?” She answers “It was I.”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Когда я ночью жду ее прихода,
Жизнь, кажется, висит на волоске.
Что почести, что юность, что свобода
Пред милой гостьей с дудочкой в руке.
И вот вошла. Откинув покрывало,
Внимательно взглянула на меня.
Ей говорю: “Ты ль Данту диктовала
Страницы Ада?” Отвечает: “Я!”.

Translation by Rupert Moreton

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