Akhmatova, "Вечером"

A poem ("In the evening") by this Russian poet.  You can read the original here.

Music graced the garden lea,
Woe and pain in furtive play;
Oysters iced upon a tray,
Fresh and piquant smells of sea.

“Your eternal friend" – his words,
As my dress he came to touch;
What embraces, that should mean much,
Could his hands disguise as birds? 

Or as cats? So one beholds
Female riders, circus folk.
As faint golden lashes cloak
Tranquil eyes, a laugh unfolds.

Near the stretching fumes amassed
Came harsh voices like sad strings:
“Thank the heavens for all things,
With your love alone at last.”