A.Akhmatova, Willow - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

Willow by Anna Akhmatova

And I was brought up in the figured silence,
In freshness of the child's years of century.
And I disliked the voice of any man there,
But voice of wind I tried appreciating.
I liked the burdocks and the nettle lawns,
But mostly - the silver willow growth.
And grateful, then she lived with me
All life, with brances mournful weeping,
And sleeplessness mine was granting with a dream.
And - it is strange! - that I've her outlived.
There's only a stump is seen, and alien voices
Of other willows are heard
Under the heavens chosen by us...
As if the brother passed...
And I keep silence...

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In russian and another translation
by Irina Goncharova:
http: //www.stihi.ru/2011/02/17/7911