The worlds are flying. The years fly by. Empty
The universe looks at us with darkness eyes.
And you, soul, weary, deaf,
At schastyy tverdysh, - again?
that happiness? evening cool
In the darkening garden, in the backwoods?
Ile gloomy vicious delight
wine, passions, the death of the soul?
that happiness? A brief moment and close,
oblivion, sleep and rest from the cares…
Wake up - re mad, unknown
And his heart rending flight…
sigh, look - the danger has passed…
But at this very moment - push again!
Launched somewhere, hit or miss,
flies, humming, hurry to top!
AND, clinging to the edge of the slide, acute,
And listening is always buzzing ringing, –
Do we go mad in motley change
to come up with reasons, spaces, time?
When will it stop? intrusive sound
Forces will not rest without heed…
How terrible to all! wildly! - Give me your hand,
friend, friend! forget again.
2 July 1912
