To fall ill as one should, deliriously <br />Hot, meet everyone again, <br />To stroll broad avenues in the seashore garden <br />Full of the wind and the sun. <br /> <br />Even the dead, today, have agreed to come, <br />And the exiles, into my house. <br />Lead the child to me by the hand. <br />Long I have missed him. <br /> <br />I shall eat blue grapes with those who are dead, <br />Drink the iced <br />Wine, and watch the gray waterfall pour <br />On to the damp flint bed. <br /> <br />------ <br /> <br />Behind the lake the moon's not stirred <br />And seems to be a window through <br />Into a silent, well-lit house, <br />Where something unpleasant has occured. <br /> <br />Has the master been brought home dead, <br />The mistress run off with a lover, <br />Or has a little girl gone missing, <br />And her shoes found by the creek-bed... <br /> <br />We can't see. But feel some awful thing, <br />And we don't want to talk. <br />Doleful, the cry of eagle-owls, and hot <br />In the garden the wind is blustering.<br /><br />Anna Akhmatova<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-fall-ill-as-one-should-deliriously/
