| Browse by article: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z 0-9 |
White Night.
I haven't locked the door,
Nor lit the candles,
You don't know, don't care,
That tired I haven't the strength
To decide to go to bed.
Seeing the fields fade in
The sunset murk of pine-needles,
And to know all is lost,
That life is a cursed hell:
I've got drunk
On your voice in the doorway.
I was sure you'd come back.
[ Back to "Anna Akhmatova Poems" page ]