Akhmatova's Marriage (1910) Has Little Effect On Her

Do you love him? I don't know. I believe he is my fate.
        Inside the church ikons glowed vastly.
Out on the steps the fog hustled people away, in groups or alone.
        At last only she was left. She had tossed her wing
over one arm. Poetry has no such use,
        and starkly paced inside her.


Not A Wife But A Witch, Writes Husband Gumilyov (1912)

Afternoon grays over shot gold - the Schönberg colour -
        and noiseless winterblasted crows halt on branches that
                resent them halting. Below sat Akhmatova with her
        symbols as if on soft pillows. Little sinner
of a sunbeam wandered onto her.


Little Lev Goes to Live With Grandmother In The Country

Earliest spring light the colour of beaten egg white
        on a scalded hull of sky, now blue now stuffed
...