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January Tuesday 25 2022

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 Anna A. Akhmatova


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Высоко в небе облачко серело, The cloud up in the wintry sky was furry,
Как беличья расстеленная шкурка. A squirrel skin, pale grey, a trifle faded.
Он мне сказал: "Не жаль, что ваше тело    He said: "You know, I'm not the least bit sorry
Растает в марте, хрупкая Снегурка!" That you will melt in March, my frail Snow Maiden."
 
В пушистой муфте руки холодели. My hands turned cold inside the muff I carried...
Мне стало страшно, стало как-то смутно. Fear and confusion came, my heart ceased beating.
О, как вернуть вас, быстрые недели O how to get them back - that swift-gone, airy
Его любви, воздушной и минутной! Love and those weeks of it, so brief, so fleeting!
 
Я не хочу ни горечи, ни мщенья, Hate? No. Revenge? What for? I'll do without it.
Пускай умру с последней белой вьюгой. O to be dead at winter's end and buried!
О нем гадала я в канун Крещенья. On Twelfth Night, dazed, I asked the cards about him; 
Я в январе была его подругой. I was his love for most of January.

1911 Translated by Irina Zheleznova
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