Anna Akhmatova

(23 June 1889 – 5 March 1966 / Odessa)

Why Is This Age Worse...? - Poem by Anna Akhmatova

Why is this age worse than earlier ages?
In a stupor of grief and dread
have we not fingered the foulest wounds
and left them unhealed by our hands?

In the west the falling light still glows,
and the clustered housetops glitter in the sun,
but here Death is already chalking the doors with crosses,
and calling the ravens, and the ravens are flying in.

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Read poems about / on: grief, death, sun, light, raven

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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