Each spring my ways steeper,
Sumrak deathly eyes.
Each spring clearer and melodious
The sacraments of the White Nights.
Month boat overturned in the last
pale grave, - and so
Worn face and drunken ravings…
Cards… gypsy sings.
Fermented black laughter and loud,
We had a flaming face.
light passed over. flashed through the darkness.
Here it is: besstrasten and dik.
See, and I stepped on his throat,
Smothers night beauty…
last paint washed off and wiped…
Well? If you can, prophesy…
Petting my unskillful and crude,
You - sweeter, than in May.
What? Kiss in the lips half dead.
Belt sad shoot.
7 May 1907
