When the end of my poetry book,
And I re-read them, I'm sad. The heart weighs
The sadness of days gone by, the last tears and dreams,
soul pritvorstvuet, disingenuous
And he saith: "Forward! there's happiness! there is peace!»
But I know: nor happiness, or peace…
Peace - far; and happiness - not with me,
With me - only days, and cold and heat,;
Sometimes me cold chills the soul,
And I'm not talking; sometimes the wind scorching
My soul poor breath scorches,
And I call - besschastny - restless…
15 July 1899
