You thought I was that type: <br />That you could forget me, <br />And that I'd plead and weep <br />And throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare, <br /> <br />Or that I'd ask the sorcerers <br />For some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift: <br />My precious perfumed handkerchief. <br /> <br />Damn you! I will not grant your cursed soul <br />Vicarious tears or a single glance. <br /> <br />And I swear to you by the garden of the angels, <br />I swear by the miracle-working icon, <br />And by the fire and smoke of our nights: <br />I will never come back to you.<br /><br />Anna Akhmatova<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/you-thought-i-was-that-type-2/
