Outside the city grew deserted quarter
On the basis of the marsh and shaky.
There lived the poets, - and each met
Other haughty smile.
In vain day and Radiant rose
Above this sad swamp:
Its inhabitants devoted their day
Wine and hard work.
when drunk, then swore in friendship,
Chatted cynical and spicy.
By morning, they tore. Then, locked,
Stupid and worked zealously.
Then we get out of the booths, like dogs,
Watched, as the sea burned.
And gold each passerby spit
Captivates with skill.
Raznezhasь, dreaming about ever gold,
Scolded publishers together,
And wept bitterly over the small flower,
Above the tiny cloud pearl…
So living poets. Reader and friend!
You think, may be, - worse
Your daily impotent attempts,
Your humdrum pools?
Not, dear reader, my critic blind.
on the extreme, there are a poet
And spit, and clouds, and the Golden Age,
Well you all this not available!..
You'll be pleased with him and his wife,
Its constitution curtailed,
But the poet - World booze,
And not only by the Constitution!
Let me die under a fence, like a dog,
Let the life of me in the ground trampled, –
I believe: God has brought me snow,
That blizzard kissed me!
24 July 1908
