Weird: we walked a lonely path,
The greenery of the forest loses track,
walking, illuminated by a full moon,
In an hour, porozhdayushy passion dream.
Mill it is not touched by the hand,
Sponge it with a kiss is not burned…
Everything about her was shining so clean,
Gaze was also dark and very deep.
Moon sparks it went out, Mercáu,
eyes, as if the love of sorrow,
Violent passions ignite want
In an hour, When the fog slogans in Zaria…
Weird: we walked a lonely path,
The greenery of the forest lost our trail;
Mill it is not touched by the hand…
Passion and love are not sound in response…
Summer 1898
