For Mikhail Lozinsky

by Anna Akhmatova

  


It's endless – the heavy, amber day!

  Impossible grief, pointless waiting!

  And the silver-voiced deer, again,

  Under the Northern Lights, belling.

  And I think there's cold snow

  A blue font for the poor and ill,

  And a little sledge's headlong flow,

  To the ancient chime of far-off bells.


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