Anna Ahmatova — I wrung my hands under my dark veil…
СтихотворенияI wrung my hands under my dark veil…
«Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?»
— Because I have made my loved one drunk
with an astringent sadness.I’ll never forget.
He went out, reeling;
his mouth was twisted, desolate . . .
I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters,
and followed him as far as the gate.
And shouted, choking: «I meant it all
in fun. Don’t leave me, or I’ll die of pain.»
He smiled at me — oh so calmly, terribly —
and said: «Why don’t you get out of the rain?»
8 January 1911, Kiev