A land not mine, stillforever memorable, the waters of its oceanchill and fresh. Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk, and the air drunk, like wine, late sun lays barethe rosy limbs of the pinetrees. Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the dayis ending, or the world, or ifthe secret of secrets is inside me again.
Anna AkhmatovaAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: russian
- Born: June 23, 1889
- Died: March 5, 1966