In my heart sick and silent
There was a wonderful song,
It does not shine beautiful music,
it is foggy, gloomy, faintly.
It has no melody, the sound of her ragged
It can not transmit the voice of death,
It is full of sorrow troubled…
Its beginning is difficult to tell!..
She is one of the developed harmonies
Misty youth and the suffering of love,
Her bewitching melody, melodious
Lit the lights in the fading of blood.
And happy, and infinitely miserable
the death, someone she stirs the blood,
He always suffers, rejoice forever,
As a person, like a genius, as love!..
20 August 1898
Shakhmatovo
Glade in PRASOLOV-Эskynskom
Insigne poet-