Broad Gold, The Evening by Anna Ahkmatova

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Broad Gold, The Evening
by Anna Ahkmatova (1889-1966)

Broad gold, the evening colors glow,
The April air is cool and tender.
You should have come ten years ago,
And yet in welcome I surrender.

Come here, sit closer in our nook,
And turn gay eyes at what my nurses

Might never glimpse: the blue-bound book
That holds my awkward childish verses.

Forgive me that I did not look
Sunward with joy, but dwelt with sorrow,
Forgive me all whom I mistook
For you, oblivious of the morrow.

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Anna Ahkmatova was born Anna Gorenko in Bolshoy Fontan, near Odessa, Ukraine, as the daughter of a naval engineer. She began writing poetry at the age of 11,and adopted a pseudonym to allay her father's fears that as a" decadent poetess" she would dishonour the family.

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REELY'S AUDIO POEMS

Broad Gold, The Evening
by Anna Ahkmatova (1889-1966)

Broad gold, the evening colors glow,
The April air is cool and tender.
You should have come ten years ago,
And yet in welcome I surrender.

Come here, sit closer in our nook,
And turn gay eyes at what my nurses

Might never glimpse: the blue-bound book
That holds my awkward childish verses.

Forgive me that I did not look
Sunward with joy, but dwelt with sorrow,
Forgive me all whom I mistook
For you, oblivious of the morrow.

REELY'S AUDIO POEMS

Broad Gold, The Evening by Anna Ahkmatova (1889-1966)

Broad gold, the evening colors glow, The April air is cool and tender. You should have come ten years ago, And yet in welcome I surrender. Come here, sit closer in our nook, And turn gay eyes at what my nurses

Might never glimpse: the blue-bound book That holds my awkward childish verses. Forgive me that I did not look Sunward with joy, but dwelt with sorrow, Forgive me all whom I mistook For you, oblivious of the morrow.

Broad Gold, The Evening
by Anna Ahkmatova (1889-1966)

Broad gold, the evening colors glow,
The April air is cool and tender.
You should have come ten years ago,
And yet in welcome I surrender.

Come here, sit closer in our nook,
And turn gay eyes at what my nurses

Might never glimpse: the blue-bound book
That holds my awkward childish verses.

Forgive me that I did not look
Sunward with joy, but dwelt with sorrow,
Forgive me all whom I mistook
For you, oblivious of the morrow.