Will host the winter - you will see
My plain and marshes
And say: "How much beauty!
What is a dead slumber!»
but remember, young, in the silence
I kept my thoughts Plains
And I waited in vain for your soul,
Sick, rebellious and moody.
I wondered in this twilight,
I looked into the face of death hladnoy
And endlessly waiting,
In the mists of peering hungrily.
But passed by you, –
I kept the marshes Duma,
And this dead beauty
In his heart was a trace moody.
21 September 1901
