Get down, curtain Fade,
On my sick geranium.
Shyn, Gypsy life unprecedented,
put out, somkni eyes of yours!
You're Lee, a life, My upper room meager
Cleaned the steppe feather!
You're Lee, a life, My dormice wakeless
Green poisoned wine!
Like a gypsy, patterned shawls
Spreads you before me,
Oh Do braids of blue-black,
Oh if the storm of passions fire!
What I was sobbing in a whisper, in zábyti,
Unearthly eh what words?
not himself only was I, without memory,
And I went around the head…
Spalena my steppe, TRAVEL removed,
no fire, no stars, no way…
And someone kissing - not my fault,
You, who promised, - simple…
30 December 1908
