And this tenderness was not like. That which a certain poet. At the beginning of the century called true. And, for some reason, quiet. No, not at all. It rang out, like the first waterfall, It crunched like the crust of bluish ice. And it prayed with a swanlike voice, And it broke down right before our eyes.
Anna AkhmatovaAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: russian
- Born: June 23, 1889
- Died: March 5, 1966