'Evening hours at the desk,'

by Anna Akhmatova

　　The page irremediably white,

　　The mimosa's scent is of Nice, warmth,

　　Over the moon some vast bird flies.

　　And, twining my braids for night,

　　As if I must wear them tomorrow,

　　Ilook from the window at sand-dunes, sea,

　　Free of sorrow.

　　How much power a man has

　　Who doesn't ask for affection!

　　I can't even lift my weary eyelids

　　When he chooses to speak my name.