I pray to the sunbeam from the window - <br />It is pale, thin, straight. <br />Since morning I have been silent, <br />And my heart - is split. <br />The copper on my washstand <br />Has turned green, <br />But the sunbeam plays on it <br />So charmingly. <br />How innocent it is, and simple, <br />In the evening calm, <br />But to me in this deserted temple <br />It's like a golden celebration, <br />And a consolation.<br /><br />Anna Akhmatova<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunbeam/
