Lines from Anna Akhmatova, 1913:
So many requests, always, from a lover!
None when they fall out of love.
I'm glad the water does not move
Under the colourless ice of the river.
By which she may mean it's good no longer to be plagued by the requests.
By which she may mean it's good to be forgetting what were welcome requests.
Aren't such requests always sweet, even coming like a hammer?
Isn't the taste even of angry departure something you refuse to rinse your mouth of?