You are so bright, snow innocent.
You're so white, like a distant temple.
I do not believe this night long
And hopeless evenings.
his soul, It has long tired,
I do not want to believe.
May be, traveler zapozdalyj,
In your quiet knock tower.
For those corrupters flour
Wrong she forgive.
Traitor to stretch out your hands.
Spring distant Awards.
8 November 1908
