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Akhmatova, "Не тайны и не печали"

A work ("No secrets and no sadness came") by this Russian poet. You can read the original here.

No secrets and no sadness came,  
Nor wisest will of destiny; 
Encounters always left the same 
Harsh print of battle's enmity. 

This morning yet I guessed the hour,   
That minute when you would return;
And my contorted hands did burn  
In prickly, faint fear of your power. 

The tablecloth, so bright in hue, 
Was crumpled by dry fingers mine;
And it was then that I first knew 
How baleful was this earth divine.

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