'A string of little beads at my neck,'

by Anna Akhmatova

　　In a broad muff I hide my hands,

　　The eyes stare vacantly,

　　They never shed a tear.

　　And the face appears pale,

　　Against the lavender silk,

　　My straight bangs

　　Almost reach my eyebrows.

　　And how dissimilar to flight

　　Is my halting step,

　　As if it were a raft beneath my feet,

　　Not these wooden parquet squares.

　　And the pale lips are slightly parted,

　　The breathing laboured and uneven,

　　And over my heart tremble

　　The flowers of a non-existent meeting.