Exhausted by the storm of inspiration,
The whole earth scorched by fire,
With cold thirst redemption
I knocked at the Lord's House.
Pagan became a Christian
AND, all wounded, hurry
Plunge down before the One
Balance impoverished forces.
I am knocking on the eve of the ideal,
No answer… and there, away,
beckons, He flashed the veil
Barely off the ground…
The Lord did not listen to my prayer,
But the smell - force passionate days
Breathed wounded in battle,
Again pour into my soul.
I do not understand the happiness of paradise,
The coming darkness, sepulchral world…
ago! Gentile mladaya
Calls for friendly feast!
3 November 1900
