'The high vault is bluer'

by Anna Akhmatova

　　Than the sky's solid blue…

　　Forgive me, happy boy,

　　The death I brought you –

　　For the roses from every place,

　　For your foolish words,

　　That your bold dark face

　　Pale with love, stirred.

　　Ithought: your purpose –

　　To show an adult's pride.

　　Ithought it's not possible:

　　Love, as one loves a bride.

　　I was wrong in every way.

　　When the weather grew icy,

　　Everywhere, and always,

　　You followed, impassively,

　　As if you wanted to show

　　I'd no love for you. Forgive!

　　Why did you take that vow

　　On the path to suffering?

　　And death held out its hand…oh,

　　Speak, why then, what for?

　　I didn't know how frail your throat

　　Was under the blue collar.

　　Happy boy, my tormented

　　Owlet, oh, forgive me!

　　Today, I find it hard

　　To leave this sanctuary.