At Tsarskoye Selo

by Anna Akhmatova

　　Horses along the ride,

　　Long waves of combed manes.

　　O enchanting town of enigmas,

　　I'm sad. I'm in love with you.

　　Strange to recall soul's longing,

　　Suffocating, delirious death.

　　Now I'm simply a plaything,

　　Like the green parrot, my friend.

　　If you wish to, look in my eyes;

　　There's no hint of pain in my heart;

　　But I dislike the hour before sunset;

　　Wind from the sea; the word 'depart'.

　　II.

　　And then…there's my marble double,

　　Lying under the ancient maple,

　　Giving his face to the waters,

　　Listening to rustling leaves.

　　While a bright rain laves

　　His clotted wound…

　　Cold one, white one, wait,

　　I'll turn to marble too.

　　III - Pushkin

　　Dark-complexioned, he wandered these alleys,

　　Was sorrowful on this lake shore,

　　And a century later we cherish,

　　The faint stir of his footsteps.

　　A litter of pine needles,

　　Low stumps, a dense bristling mat…

　　Here lay his dog-eared copy of Parny,

　　And here, his tricorn hat.