Your thunderstorm me rushing off…


Your thunderstorm me rushing off
And knocked me.
And he stood over me quietly
Xin dying day.

I'm on the ground, storm smyatыy
And lying overturned.
And I hear the distant rumble,
And I see the rainbow Mezhuyev.

I will ascend on it, of seven colors
And unsullied path -
With a smile and a quiet Privetnoye
Look into the eyes of your storm.

November 1906

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Alexander Blok
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