Why Is This Age Worse...?
Anna Akhmatova
Why is this age worse than earlier ages? In a stupor of grief and dread have we not fingered the foulest wounds and left them unhealed by our hands? In the west the falling light still glows, and the clustered housetops glitter in the sun, but here Death is already chalking the doors with crosses, and calling the ravens, and the ravens are flying in.
Next 10 Poems
- Anna Akhmatova : Willow
- Anna Akhmatova : You Thought I Was That Type
- Anna Akhmatova : You Will Hear Thunder
- William Allingham : A Day-dream's Reflection
- William Allingham : A Dream
- William Allingham : A Gravestone
- William Allingham : A Memory
- William Allingham : A Seed
- William Allingham : A Singer
- William Allingham : Abbey Assaroe
Previous 10 Poems
- Anna Akhmatova : White Night
- Anna Akhmatova : Under Her Dark Veil
- Anna Akhmatova : Twenty-first. Night. Monday
- Anna Akhmatova : Thunder
- Anna Akhmatova : The Sentence
- Anna Akhmatova : Sunbeam
- Anna Akhmatova : Solitude
- Anna Akhmatova : Requiem
- Anna Akhmatova : Memory Of Sun
- Anna Akhmatova : March Elegy