I left in a white country,
Bypassing Beach indignant.
Now their voice distant
No potrevožit silence.
They persistently repeat,
What do I, how their, kindly brotherhood,
And the wealth of Christian
confidently promise.
They do not have numbers. In their graves
They locked impregnable.
I know: more, what crime,
To awaken doubts in their hearts.
I threw them on the shore.
They are terribly intoxicated.
And in the depths of the unperturbed
My white torch shore.
16 November 1902
