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Anna Akhmatova Poems | Quotes | Articles

Anna Akhmatova Photo
Biography | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes

Anna Akhmatova poems, biography, quotes, examples of poetry, articles, essays and more. The best Anna Akhmatova resource with comprehensive poet information, a list of poems, short poems, quotations, best poems, poet's works and more.

Anna Akhmatova Biography...Anna Akhmatova was a modernist poet during the "Silver Age". She became one of the leading female poets in Russia during the turmoil of the World Wars and the Russian Revolution. She was born on June 23, 1889 in Bolshoy Fonton near Odessa, Russia and grew up in St. Petersburg.


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Articles by or About Anna Akhmatova

Articles about Anna Akhmatova or articles that mention Anna Akhmatova.

Akhmatova Quotes

Here are a few random quotes by Anna Akhmatova.

See also: All Anna Akhmatova Quotes

Quote Left You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire. That day in Moscow, it will all come true, when, for the last time, I take my leave, And hasten to the heights that I have longed for, Leaving my shadow still to be with you. Quote Right
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Quote Left Wild honey smells of freedom The dust—of sunlight The mouth of a young girl, like a violet But gold—smells of nothing. Quote Right
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Quote Left I drink to our ruined house, to the dolor of my life, to our loneliness together; and to you I raise my glass, to lying lips that have betrayed us, to dead-cold pitiless eyes, and to the hard realities; that the world is brutal and coarse, that God, in fact, has not saved us. Quote Right
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Quote Left Here is my gift, not roses on your grave, not sticks of burning incense. You lived aloof, maintaining to the end your magnificent disdain. You drank wine, and told the wittiest jokes, and suffocated inside stifling walls. Alone you let the terrible stranger in, and stayed with her alone. Now you're gone, and nobody says a word about your troubled and exalted life. Only my voice, like a flute, will mourn at your dumb funeral feast. Oh, who would have dared believe that half-crazed I, I, sick with grief for the buried past, I, smoldering on a slow fire, having lost everything and forgotten all, would be fated to commemorate a man so full of strength and will and bright inventions, who only yesterday it seems, chatted with me, hiding the tremor of his mortal pain. Quote Right
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