‘For the last time, we met,’

by Anna Akhmatova

For the last time, we met,
On the embankment, as ever.
High water in the Neva,
Fear of flood in the city.

He talked of the summer and said,
How absurd – a woman poet!
I remember the Tsar’s great palace,
The Peter and Paul fortress! –

Then, the air was not ours,
But a gift from heaven – wondrous.
And I, in that moment, was granted,
The latest of all my mad songs.