There were many - beautiful virgins.
mountain gorge, hills, ridges
Full of memories of passionate
And the secret vote…
They drew in the dust of the road
From century driven by,
They begged and threatened
dagger, poison and fire…
Lifting dumb bedspreads,
They herded the flock my,
When I was fast asleep, tired,
And in the expanses cried streams…
And every beautiful lie
With me was connected,
And every cherished tremor
I was tormented, GLA and GLA…
But over the mad head
I raised the whip, I gathered the flock
And there went out a mountain trail,
In order not to go back - ever!
here the silence. There go the clouds.
The wind rustles the grass.
I listen to the cherished cliff
They are the earthly murmur beneath the mountain.
When, trampling flowers blue
Black horse hoof,
I'll be back, the king, e respiration storm, –
You do not know me!
March-June 1908
