And in the depths of music, I didn’t find the answer, And again there was silence, and again the ghost of summer. - Anna Akhmatova

Your voice is wild and simple.
You are untranslatable
Into any one tongue.

Sentirai il tuono e mi rammenterai,
penserai: desiderava la bufera...
Sarà una striscia di cielo accesa di rosso,
e il cuore come allora in fiamme.
E ciò accadrà nel giorno moscovita
in cui abbandonerò per sempre la città,
muoverò verso il bramato riparo,
lasciando in mezzo a voi ancora la mia ombra.

And it seemed to me that there were fires
Flying till dawn without number
And I never found out things-those
Strange eyes of his-what colour?

Everything trembling and singing and
Were you my enemy or my friend,
Winter was it or summer?