Author Anna Akhmatova I drink to home, that is lost, To evil life of mine, To loneness in which we’re both, And to your future, fine, -- To lips by which I was betrayed, To eyes that deathly cold, To that that the world is bad and that We were not saved by God. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 4 (2 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments