Legend on An Unfinished Portrait

by Anna Akhmatova

　　Sadness is pointless, a crime,

　　Here, from grey canvas, I rise,

　　Vaguely, strangely through time.

　　Arms lifted, freely curtailed,

　　A tormented smile on my face,

　　I was forced to become like this

　　Through hours of mutual grace.

　　He wished it so, he willed it so,

　　With words, spiteful and dead.

　　Anxiety clotted my mouth: oh,

　　My cheeks with snow were wed.

　　It's no sin of his, it seems,

　　Other eyes, he left to see,

　　No matter these empty dreams

　　Of my mortal lethargy.