Antique rose
I bear, lonely,
The snow and cold,
And my way is far.
And the same path,
With a sword on his shoulder,
He goes after me
In the misty cloak.
Is he knows,
With snow already crushed,
What is it burns
Last sunset,
That I have no outcome
All night long,
With more freedom
Me will not go.
and where, belated,
I Syschu night?
Only roses melted
falling snow,
Only tears in scarlet
falling snow.
yearning to death,
I can not help.
He aimlessly roses
Zatopchet in the snow.
4 November 1908
