For Alexander Blok

by Anna Akhmatova

　　Exactly at noon. On Sunday.

　　Beyond the window, frost,

　　Quiet in the room's space.

　　And a raspberry tinted sun

　　Above tangles of blue smoke…

　　How clearly the taciturn

　　Master turns, on me, his look!

　　His eyes are of that kind

　　Remembered by one and all:

　　Better take care, mind:

　　Don't gaze at them at all.

　　But I remember our words,

　　Smoky noon, of a Sunday,

　　In that high grey house

　　By the Neva's sea-way.