We met with you in the temple
And we lived in a happy garden,
But here's the stinking yards
Went to curse and labor.
We passed all the gates
And in each window saw,
How hard is the work
On each bent back.
So we go there, where we will
We live under the low ceiling,
Where people have cursed each other,
Killed by his labor.
Trying not to dirty dress,
You walked among the sleeping on the floor;
But the dream was their curse,
Over there - in the corner spat…
you turned, I looked
Trustingly into my eyes…
And on my cheek I flashed,
Tear rolled down drunk.
Not! Happiness - an idle concern,
After all, youth is long gone.
We pass the century work,
I - hammer, you - needle.
Sidi, yes necks, Look out the window,
People everywhere drives work,
and this, who find it difficult bit,
Those songs long sing.
I'll be near your work,
maybe, you do not recall me,
What I saw bottom of the glass,
Flushing despair in wine.
September 1906
