Mention422270
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| so:text | I have lit my treasured candles, one by one, to hallow this night. With you, who do not come, I wait the birth of the year. Dear God! the flame has drowned in crystal, and the wine, like poison, burns Old malice bites the air, old ravings rave again, though the hour has not yet struck. (en) |
| so:isPartOf | https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Anna_Akhmatova |
| so:description | Poem without a Hero (1963) (en) |
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Triples where Mention422270 is the object (without rdf:type)
| qkg:Quotation399720 | qkg:hasMention |
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