In late autumn the harbor
From snow-swept land
The sail is designed
Go heavy ships.
The black sky is signified
Above water crane,
And a lantern swinging
On the banks of snow-making.
And the sailor, on board are not accepted,
is, reeling, through a storm.
Everything is lost, all drunk!
Quite - no longer can…
A deserted beach haven
Already the first light snow has brought…
In the purest, in the gentle shroud
Are you sweet sleep, sailor?
14 November 1909
