He said—
A Broken Appointment
You did not come,
And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb.
Yet less for loss of your dear presence there
Than that I thus found lacking in your make
That high compassion which can overcome
Reluctance for pure loving kindness’ sake.
Grieved I, when, as the lop-hour stroked its sum,
You did not come.
You love not me,
And love alone can lend you loyalty,
-I know and knew it. But, unto the store
Of human deeds divine in all but name,
Was it not worth a little hour or more
To add yet this: Once you, a woman, came
To soothe a time-torn man, even though it be
You love not me?
Thomas Hardy
She said—
You thought that I was that type:
That you could forget me,
And that I'd plead and weep and throw myself
Under the hooves of a bay mare,
Or that I'd ask the sorcerers
For some magic potion made from roots
And send you a terrible gift:
My precious perfumed handkerchief.
Damn you! I will not grant
Your cursed soul vicarious tears or a single glance.
And I swear to you by the garden of the angels,
I swear by the miracle-working icon,
And by the fire and smoke of our nights:
I will never come back to you
Anna Akhmatova
translated by Richard McKane
