Solitude

by Anna Akhmatova

  


So many stones are thrown at me

  That I no longer cower,

  The turret's cage is shapely,

  High among high towers.

  My thanks, to its builders,

  May they evade pain and woe,

  Here, I see suns rise earlier,

  Here, their last splendours glow.

  And often winds from northern seas

  Fill the windows of my sanctuary,

  And a dove eats corn from my palm…

  And divinely light and calm,

  The Muse's sunburnt hand's at play,

  Finishing my unfinished page.


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