In Memoriam, July 19, 1914

By Anna Akhmatova

Translated by Stephen Edgar

We aged a hundred years and this descended

In just one hour, as at a stroke.

The summer had been brief and now was ended;

The body of the ploughed plains lay in smoke.

…

The hushed road burst in colors then, a soaring

Lament rose, ringing silver like a bell.

And so I covered up my face, imploring

God to destroy me before battle fell.

…

And from my memory the shadows vanished

Of songs and passions—burdens I’d not need.

The Almighty bade it be—with all else banished—

A book of portents terrible to read.