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'»