I wander in the walls of the monastery,
Bleak and dark monk.
A little glimmer of pale dawn, –
I watch flashing snowflakes.
Brother, night long, pale dawn
On our northern gloomy.
In Named box
Stubborn devotees Dumas.
The same snow - whiter
Pristine and eternal robe.
And forever pale wax candles,
And gray-rails.
I'm surprised the local cold walls
And obscure life of poverty.
It scares me sleepy prisoner
And brother pallidity.
Dawn pale and night duty,
As the number of Zautra and dinner.
Brother, I myself am pale, like snow,
In a bitter thought poor heart…
11 June 1902. WITH. Shakhmatovo
