Anna Akhmatova

In intimacy there exists a line 
That can't be crossed by passion or love's art -  
In awful silence lips melt into one 
And out of love to pieces bursts the heart.  

And friendship here is impotent, and years 
Of happiness sublime in fire aglow, 
When soul is free and does not hear 
The dulling of sweet passion, long and slow.  

Those who are striving toward it are in fever, 
But those that reach it struck with woe that lingers. 
Now you have finally fathomed, why forever 
Her heart does not beat underneath your fingers.

By Anna Akhmatova
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat