In these days of yellow between the houses
We meet only for a moment.
You got me searing eyes
And hide in the dark dead end…
But the eyes of the silent fire
No wonder you have to douse,
And I tend to secretly wonder
before you, lie silent!
Night winter throw, may be,
We were in a mad and diabolical Ball,
And me, finally, will destroy
your razyashtiy, your eyes, your knife!
6 October 1909
