O you—my sacred solitude!
The days are spacious, light and pure,
Like an awakening morning garden.
Solitude! Don’t heed the distant calls,
And hold tightly to the golden door,
There, beyond it, is hell, longed for.
[Anna Akhmatova {1889-1966} 'Solitude' {trans. by Judith Hemschemeyer}, from Solitude in Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets]
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