The Greyeyed King   by Anna Akhmatova

Glory to you, hopeless dull  pain!

The grey-eyed king died yesterday.

The autumn evening was stuffy and scarlet,

My husband, returning, said calmly but sad:

"You know, they brought him from hunterment,

They found his body by the old oak, recumbent.

It's a pity about the queen. So young woman,

In one night she turned grey, perish lantern.

I found my pipe on the our fireplace

And went to work at night. See your face”

I'll wake my daughter now, in a moment,

I will look into her grey eyes innocent

And the poplars rustle outside the window:

"There is no more king on earth for you, children!”