And the stone word fell On my still-living breast. Never mind, I was ready. I will manage somehow. Today I have so much to do: I must kill memory once and for all, I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again-- Unless . . . Summer's ardent rustling Is like a festival outside my window. For a long time I've foreseen this Brilliant day, deserted house. Anna Akhmatova, translated from the Russian by Judith Hemschemeyer.