To Alexander Blok

by Anna Akhmatova


I am visiting the poet.
It's exactly noon. On Sunday.
And the spacious room is quiet,
While the streets are bathed in frost

And the cherry-tinted sun disk
Hangs in tousled bluish smoke wisps...
My serene companion gazes
with such clarity on me!

Anyone his eyes have touched,
Must remember them forever;
As for me, I'm always cautious
Better not look up at all.

But I'll cherish our discussion,
On a smoky Sunday noon hour
In a tall and dreary building
At the Neva's naval gate.