Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966) :
Dark my veil…
Dark my veil. Hands clenched painfully, tightly.
“Why so white-faced?” “To think, just to think!
It was I made him to drink; of the biting
Wine of sorrow I forced him to drink.
”How forget? Out he staggered with failing
Strength, and face oddly twisted and grim.
I ran down without touching the handrail,
To the gateway I ran after him.
«'Please don't go!' I gasped out. 'I was only
Jesting… Please!.. Or I'll die…' With a blind,
With a terrible smile, almost tonelessly,
He brought out 'Do not stand in the wind'»