Zadebrennye forest cliff:
Once there, on high,
Cut grandfathers frame combustible
And sang about his Christ.
Now the shepherd's whip does not whistle,
And the songs do not sing pipe.
Only crude moss hangs from the cliff,
Witches knocked tow.
Forever wakeless shadow
Eyelashes mosses pubescent,
sleep, lulled by laziness
Human vragini - silence.
And one sad heron
With marsh tussocks not frighten,
But in every quiet, rusty drop -
conceive rivers, lakes, will be.
And drops of rusty, forest,
Rodyas in the wilderness and the dark,
Bear frightened Russia
The news of the burning Christ.
October 1907 – 29 August 1914
