Confession

by Anna Akhmatova

  


From my poor sins I am set free.

  In lilac dusk the taper smolders;

  The dark stole's rigid drapery

  Conceals a massive head and shoulders.

  "Talitha kumi": Is it He

  Once more? How fast the heart is beating . . .

  A touch: a hand moves absently

  The customary cross repeating.


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