The Muse

- Anna Akhmatova        translated by Lyn Coffin

When at night I await the beloved guest,
Life seems to hang by a thread.  ”What is youth?” I demand
Of the room.  ”What is honor, freedom, the rest,
In the Presence of her who holds the flute in her hand?”
But now she is here.  Tossing aside her veil,
She considers me.  ”Are you the one who came
To Dante, who dictated the pages of Hell
To him?” I ask her.  She replies, “I am.”