The Muse

Anna Akhmatova 1889 – 1966

When in the night I await her coming,

My life seems stopped. I ask myself: What

Are tributes, freedom, or youth compared

To this treasured friend holding a flute?

Look, she’s coming! She throws off her veil

And watches me, steady and long. I say:

“Was it you who dictated to Dante the pages

Of Hell?” And she answers: “I am the one.”