It was all, It was, It was,
Consummated cycle days.
oh, what a lie, what power
You, past, return?
In the hour of the morning, clean and crystal,
The walls of the Moscow Kremlin,
Delight original soul
Do I return my land?
Or in the Easter night, over the Neva,
the wind, in the cold, in the breaking of the ice -
The old woman beggar crutch
My corpse lift a quiet?
Ile on the beloved meadow
The rustle of autumn gray
I body in a rain mist
Rasklyuet kite young?
Or just an hour of anguish starless,
In some four walls,
With the need to iron
Sleep on the white sheets?
And in new life, unlike,
I forget the old dream,
And I will also remember the Doges,
As now I remember Kalita?
But I believe - will not pass without a trace
All, that I loved so passionately,
All the thrill of the lives of the poor,
All this strange fervor!
August 1909
