'Ice, resonant, floats by,'

by Anna Akhmatova

　　The sky is hopelessly pale,

　　Oh, why do you punish me?

　　What crime am I guilty of?

　　If you wish – then murder me,

　　But don't be so harsh with me.

　　With me you don't want children,

　　And you don't like my poetry.

　　As you would have it, let it be!

　　True to my vow, I give my life

　　To you. But my sadness

　　I'll take to the grave with me.