The Gray-Eyed King (translation from the Russian of Anna Akhmatova)


Your glory, eternal suffering!
This night died our gray-eyed king.
A hot-blooded autumn evening,
My husband quietly returning:
"They took him back from hunting, you know,
By the old oak, felled by some blow.
Our poor Queen. Such a young thing!...
In just one night all gray and grim."
He put his pipe by the fire
To evening chores he retired.
My own daughter I must see
Her gray eyes looking back at me.
Outside, the poplars whispering say
"Nevermore, those eyes of gray..."


© Copyright Jerome Raymond Kraus 2006