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A choir of angels glorified the hour, the vault of heaven was dissolved in fire. Father, why hast Thou forsaken me? Mother, I beg you, do not weep for me.

Anna Akhmatova

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Anna Akhmatova
Age: 76 †
Born: 1889
Born: June 23
Died: 1966
Died: March 5
Author
Literary Critic
Literary Scholar
Poet
Translator
Writer
Odesa
Anna Andreyevna Gorenko
Anna Achmatova
Anna Ahmatova
Anna Gorenko
Anna Andreevna Gorenko
Anna Andreevna Akhmatova
Father
Weep
Vault
Mother
Angels
Vaults
Thou
Angel
Dissolved
Hour
Glorified
Fire
Forsaken
Hours
Hast
Heaven
Choir

More quotes by Anna Akhmatova

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This Cruel Age has deflected me.
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The secret of secrets is inside me again.
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Natural thunder heralds the wetness of fresh water high clouds to quench the thirst of fields gone dry and parched, a messenger of blessed rain, but this was as dry as hell must be. My distraught perception refused to believe it, because of the insane suddenness with which it sounded, swelled and hit, and how casually it came to murder my child.
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Let whoever wants to, relax in the south, And bask in the garden of paradise. Here is the essence of north—and it's autumn I've chosen as this year's friend.
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All has been looted, betrayed, sold black death's wing flashed ahead.
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Your voice is wild and simple. You are untranslatable Into any one tongue.
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As the future ripens in the past, so the past rots in the future -- a terrible festival of dead leaves.
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The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones unspoken phrases, silent words.
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I am not one of those who left the land to the mercy of its enemies. Their flattery leaves me cold, my songs are not for them to praise.
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How the miracle of our meeting Shone there and sang, I didn't want to return From there to anywhere. Happiness instead of duty Was bitter delight to me. Not obliged to speak to anyone, I spoke for a long while. Let passions stifle lovers, Demanding answers, We, my dear, are only souls At the limits of the world.
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I myself, from the very beginning, Seemed to myself like someone's dream or delirium Or a reflection in someone else's mirror, Without flesh, without meaning, without a name. Already I knew the list of crimes That I was destined to commit.
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The word dropped like a stone on my still living breast. Confess: I was prepared, am somehow ready for the test.
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We aged a hundred years, and this happened in a single hour: the short summer had already died, the body of the ploughed plains smoked.
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Italy is a dream that keeps returning for the rest of your life.
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Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again.
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It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.
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That was when the ones who smiled Were the dead, glad to be at rest.
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I go forth to seek To seek and claim the lovely magic garden Where grasses softly sigh and Muses speak.
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I seem to myself, as in a dream, Am accidental guest in this dreadful body.
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This cruel age has deflected me, like a river from this course. Strayed from its familiar shores, my changeling life has flowed into a sister channel. How many spectacles I've missed: the curtain rising without me, and falling too. How many friends I never had the chance to meet.
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