There is no name for you, my distant.
In the distance lay the mother, ill.
He is leaning over it all sadder
Her nurse - silence.
But the happiness was Unoriginate,
The silence. It was spring.
You came to the glass door
And there stood, in the garden, enticing
Me, pensive Mary,
Golubookuyu me.
I took a quiet hall
through slumber, whispers and dreams…
And in the shadow of the balcony shaking
Her nurses - silence…
Moment - in an old mirror
I saw myself, himself…
And the rustle of dress length
The stairs - to meet you.
And I shook his hand, these hands…
And she trembled in them…
But from a distance they flew sounds:
There… breathless silence.
And yet a moment - in the window frame
I've seen - leaving you…
And in the window to the poor, poor mother
The balcony bowed flowers…
For it lay in the bedchamber
Her nurse - silence…
I'm here, my girl's bedroom,
And do not open the hand… one…
There is no name for you, Spring.
There is no name for you, my distant.
October 1906
