In the long, low hut walls
Clumsy standing shop.
On one - before a long table -
Silently sat at a yarn,
Drooping over the work parting,
homely girl
With inconspicuous person.
I dont know, whether it was
Young il old,
And what color hair,
And what are the features and the eyes.
only I know, that quiet spun yarn,
And then, coming off of yarn,
Long, long sitting, not looking,
Without worries and without thoughts.
And I, probably, I know,
What was once seen her too,
And she was, may be, beautiful
AND, perhaps, slimmer and younger,
AND, may be, We longed once
Dropping to its base,
Kings of gray hair in blue.
And remember me,
That in the house of the low
Veyal Sladko dope,
that is why, that swamp Sandman
Behind my flowed,
that is why, that permeated the air was
Violets flowering Night,
that is why, that holiday evening
I'm not having a wedding garment come.
I was a beggar tramp,
Visitor night restaurants,
And in the house gathered the kings;
But remember clearly,
That once I was in their circle
And the mouth of the cup touched them
Somewhere in the rocks, in fjord,
How could no seas, any land,
Only in the twilight snow
Slightly shiny golden crowns
Scandinavian rulers.
