foggy morning, morning sedoe…
Turgenev
Utreet. With God! Home!
jingle bells.
You harvest coldly to my lips
Their silver rings,
And I - that time in a row -
kiss the ring, instead of hands…
In pleche, reclined, –
Zador freedom and separation,
But, barely visible behind mist,
for rain, for dokuchnoy…
And look, coal under the ashes,
And the voice of the morning and boring…
Not, life and happiness till morning
I is not in this view!
Not this voice sang yesterday
With the guitar together on stage!..
Like a boy, šarknula; a gift
weigh out… "Goodbye…»
And about the bracelet jingled badge
(Some memory)…
I, silently, I look at her,
I clench her fingers to the pain…
After all, we really do not see Bole…
Well I tell her good-bye?..
"Goodbye, Take another ring.
Odenesh ruchenki his
And his heart swarthy
In silver scales…
Alloy, both flew, this,
night fire, former night…
You, time, memory dimmed,
And the way a snowball zaporoshi ".
29 November 1913
