Anna Achmatova - 'But there 're, somewhere'

But there ’re, somewhere, the simple life and light, 
Warm, gay and absolutely clear… 
There, speaks a neighbor through the fences, light, 
With a sweet girl, and only bees can hear – 
The gentlest talking of this kind. 

But here we live – the solemn ones and toilsome – 
And honor rites of our meetings, sad, 
When our speech, just as a bud to blossom, 
Is cut by wind, the cold and mad. 

But we shall never seek a substitution 
For this grand city – our woe and prize – 
The widest rivers’ ever glaring ice, 
The gloomy gardens, hidden from beams sun’s 
And the Muse voice’s slim illusion.


(1915)