'A cast-iron fence,'

by Anna Akhmatova

　　A bed of pine,

　　How sweet that I no longer

　　Need to be jealous.

　　A bed's made for me

　　With sobbing and prayer;

　　Now go wherever on earth

　　You wish, God bless you!

　　Now your ears won't burn

　　With frenzied speech,

　　Now a candle won't flicker

　　Till the dawn.

　　We've achieved a peace,

　　And immaculate days…

　　You weep – I'm not worth

　　A single one of your tears.