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More poems by Anna AkhmatovaAnna Akhmatova | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (1) | Books by Anna AkhmatovaBooks by Anna Akhmatova

You Thought I Was That Type

Anna Akhmatova

You thought I was that type:
That you could forget me,
And that I'd plead and weep
And throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare,

Or that I'd ask the sorcerers
For some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift:
My precious perfumed handkerchief.

Damn you! I will not grant your cursed soul
Vicarious tears or a single glance.

And I swear to you by the garden of the angels,
I swear by the miracle-working icon,
And by the fire and smoke of our nights:
I will never come back to you.

Added: 19 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 21 Nov 2017 8:44 PM | Viewed: 13156 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/12/ | Viewed on 21 November 2017.
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