I wrung my hands under a dense dark voile... (А.Ахматова "Сжала руки под темной вуалью...")

I wrung my hands under a dense dark voile,
"What is the reason you are so pale?"
Because a bitter and astringent mourning
Intoxicated feelings to the end.

Can I forget? He went out swaying,
His mouth got distorted with the pain,
I followed him, I did not touch the railings,
I followed him just running to the gates.

With gasp I cried: "I would not live without you.
It's been a joke. Forgive me, I'm wrong".
His smile was calm and nasty. All was broken.
"Don't stand out in the wind." I heard his words.