Do not dissemble the, Statement confessing,
That for a moment you were a full one,
he, that arose when, breathless,
Before a rare and well-fed crowd…
What was, how sad, stately
And insane, as soon as grief…
Zarevaya Hospodnyaya glory
Sang holy shawl…
And in the thigh rested his hand,
And heels clattered on the catwalk,
Multicolored ribbons river
Violently rushed to the white stockings…
But, broad dance magic and Naito,
High upraised hand
Tore invisible threads
Between a rare crowd and,
To the north of the unknown dance,
Creek Handá and castanets language
I realized only in love with the Spaniard
Or who saw God's poet.
October 1912
