The Muse Anna Akhmatova 1889 – 1966 When in the night I await her coming,My life seems stopped. I ask myself: WhatAre tributes, freedom, or youth comparedTo this treasured friend holding a flute?Look, she’s coming! She throws off her veilAnd watches me, steady and long. I say:“Was it you who dictated to Dante the pagesOf Hell?” And she answers: “I am the one.”

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