Through the gray smoke from the edge and up to the edge
purple light
Calling, Calls to unheard paradise,
But paradise - no.
What in this insane gloom, red and gray,
bells,
What read as a pipe with faith?
After all, darkness - all darkness.
And the louder he argues with the gloom of everyday life,
This idle jingle,
Meanwhile it seems Iron, neprobudneй
My dead sleep.
30 April 1912
