Sunbeam

Anna Akhmatova

I pray to the sunbeam from the window -
It is pale, thin, straight.
Since morning I have been silent,
And my heart - is split.
The copper on my washstand
Has turned green,
But the sunbeam plays on it
So charmingly.
How innocent it is, and simple,
In the evening calm,
But to me in this deserted temple
It's like a golden celebration,
And a consolation.

Next 10 Poems

• Anna Akhmatova : The Sentence
• Anna Akhmatova : Thunder
• Anna Akhmatova : Twenty-first. Night. Monday
• Anna Akhmatova : Under Her Dark Veil
• Anna Akhmatova : White Night
• Anna Akhmatova : Why Is This Age Worse...?
• Anna Akhmatova : Willow
• Anna Akhmatova : You Thought I Was That Type
• Anna Akhmatova : You Will Hear Thunder
• William Allingham : A Day-dream's Reflection

Previous 10 Poems

• Anna Akhmatova : Solitude
• Anna Akhmatova : Requiem
• Anna Akhmatova : Memory Of Sun
• Anna Akhmatova : March Elegy
• Anna Akhmatova : Lying In Me
• Anna Akhmatova : Lot's Wife
• Anna Akhmatova : In Memory Of M. B.
• Anna Akhmatova : I Wrung My Hands
• Anna Akhmatova : I Taught Myself To Live Simply
• Anna Akhmatova : I Hear The Oriole's Always-grieving Voice