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1-it is yanvarya

How often, surrounded by a motley crowd,
When in front of me, as if in a dream,
When the noise of music and dance,
When a wild whisper learned by rote speeches,
Flashed images of heartless people,
Decency strapped masks,

When the cold touch of my hands
With careless daring urban beauties
It has long been intrepid hands, –
Externally are immersed in their glitter and vanity,
I caress the soul of an old dream,
The dead years of holy sounds.

And if you somehow manage to me for a moment
doze off, - memory for recent antiquity
I fly freestyle, free bird;
And I see myself as a child; and circle
Relatives of all places: High mansion
And a garden with a greenhouse destroyed;

Green grass network veiled sleep pond,
And for pond village smokes - and stand
Away fog over fields.
In a dark alley, I enter; through the bushes
Looks evening ray, and yellow leaves
Noise under timid steps.

And a strange longing constricts my chest too:
I think about it, I cry and love,
I like my creature dreams
With eyes, full of azure fire,
With a smile pink, like the young of the day
For the first grove radiance.

So strange kingdom vsesylnыy hostess -
I sat for hours one,
And their memory is still alive today
Under a storm of painful doubt and passions,
As fresh islet harmless the seas
Blossoms on a wet desert them.

when will, his senses, I know cheating,
And the noise of crowds, flush out my dream,
On holiday nézvannuyu guest,
ABOUT, how I want to embarrass their cheerfulness
And boldly throw them in the eyes of iron verse,
Bathed in bitterness and anger!..

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All poems of Alexander Blok

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