Spirit spicy Marty was in the lunar circle,
Under the melting snow crunched sand.
My city istayal in a wet snowstorm,
a wasp, enamored, at someone's feet.
You clung all superstitious,
And it seemed to me - through snorting horse -
Hungarian Dance in the heavenly mob
Rings and cries, teasing me.
A Mad breeze, rushing over dalyu, –
He wanted to burn my soul,
The person throwing your veil
I sang about antiques…
And suddenly - you, dalnyaya, someone else,
He said with a zipper in the eyes:
this soul, the last road entering,
Crazy crying about past dreams.
6 Martha 1910.
Chapel on Krestovsky
