Song of the Last Meeting

by Anna Akhmatova

　　But my feet were light.

　　I fumbled the glove for my left hand

　　Onto my right.

　　It seemed there were many steps,

　　I knew – there were only three.

　　Autumn, whispering in the maples,

　　Kept urging: 'Die with me!

　　I'm cheated by joylessness,

　　Changed by a destiny untrue.'

　　I answered: 'My dear, my dear!

　　I too: I'll die with you.'

　　The song of the last meeting.

　　I see that dark house again.

　　Only bedroom candles burning,

　　With a yellow, indifferent, flame.