You, You, with different light…

You, You, with different light,
My friend, my angel, my law!
Forgive mad poet,
To you, he will not return.

I was mad and sad,
I tempt their fate,
I stung golden dream
And tea ordinances in the coffin.

You beamed me out of the night,
From poor life stole,
You dale lowered eyes,
You're my muse passed.

In the coffin, I hear the voice of a bird,
Spring near, cheese land.
I spit maiden gold
Clear languid game.

14 August - 1 September 1902

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Alexander Blok
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