Why is this age worse than earlier ages?
In a stupor of grief and dread
have we not fingered the foulest wounds
and left them unhealed by our hands?

In the west the falling light still glows,
and the clustered housetops glitter in the sun,
but here Death is already chalking the doors with crosses,
and calling the ravens, and the ravens are flying in.

Added: on July 21st, 2008 at 4:15 PM | Viewed: 2933 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Anna Akhmatova
Poem: Why Is This Age Worse...?
Volume: Poems of Akhmatova
Year: Published/Written in 1919
Poem of the Day on:
Aug 13 2003

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