They took you at dawn, I remember,
As though to the wake, I trailed,
Children wept in a darkened chamber,
By the icon, the candle grew frail.
Your lips kept the icon’s chill.
The deathly sweat – I remember it all!
Like the wives of the Streltsy, I will
Moan for you by the Kremlin wall.
By Anna Akhmatova
Translation by Andrey Kneller
Anna Akhmatova >