Winter wind plays with the thorns,
She blows out the candle in the window.
You went on a date with her lover.
I am alone. I will forgive. I am silent.
You do not know, to whom you pray -
He plays and jokes with you.
About thorns cold ukoleshsya,
Returning home at night.
But, for a long time listening to the happiness,
At the window, I'll wait for you.
You give yourself to him with the passion.
Does not matter. I am a mystery dish.
All, that in your heart of the nebula,
It will become clear in my silence.
AND, when he parted with you,
You are only recognized me.
20 February 1903
