In intimacy there exists a line
That can't be crossed by passion or love's art -
In awful silence lips melt into one
And out of love to pieces bursts the heart.

And friendship here is impotent, and years
Of happiness sublime in fire aglow,
When soul is free and does not hear
The dulling of sweet passion, long and slow.

Those who are striving toward it are in fever,
But those that reach it struck with woe that lingers.
Now you have finally fathomed, why forever
Her heart does not beat underneath your fingers.

By Anna Akhmatova
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat
https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat

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* Origin: www.darkrealms.ca (1:229/2)