On the eve of the twentieth century

We eked out his days gloomily,
Worries far foreign;
Hidden from us, we are not cute,
What ever pleases others…
We eked out their days without faith,
Fate tired we punish…
And our life is sore upon without measure,
And hard to die…
so century, sped away mercilessly,
Meeting the new order of centuries,
He throws them a mystery hladnoy
live, crazy dead…

11 August 1899

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Alexander Blok
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