Voronezh

 By Anna Akhmatova

(For Osip Mandelshtam)

And now the city stands all frozen-over:
The snow, walls, trees like underneath the glass.
I step on crystals, make a nervous stroller;
A paisleyed snow-sleigh shoots a swerving pass!
Above St. Peter of Voronezh — ravens, And poplars, gated heavens algae-green,
Awash in sundust, blurred,
          Of Kulikovo's war-fields
A strong, triumphant country’s hillsides blow-on in.
And poplars, as if toasting vessels,
Start chiming louder still above our heads:
As if their goblets raised to our jubilation
Upon a wedding feast a thousand guests.
While in the room of a disfavored poet
Are keeping watch, by turns: his muse, his fear.
And night goes on,
That knows no dawn before it.