Not of my birth...

Not of my birth, this land is though
Still memorable till my grave.
The sea is tender cold as snow
In every light, unsalty wave.

So bleached is sand beneath the waters,
And air strong as heady wine,
And sunlight nakes, at evening quarters,
The salmon body of a pine.

And sunset in the ether glow
Brings something I cannot explain;
End of the day, of world we know,
Or just my soul's deep arcane.


Original: www.ruthenia.ru/60s/ahmatova/zemlja.htm