In hot dance bacchanalian
Forget the love,
Let be, not knowing sadness,
In the troubled heart splashing blood.
Opochiy with vakhankoy rezvoy,
Let her fall asleep tympanum,
And no one will fall sober,
Let passion every drunk!
After a daring and Dance
You will cling to her breasts,
Intoxicated sweet tale,
say morning: "Prognosis!»
Let the moon casts shadows
On her chest Mladen,
Put your arms around her knees,
Life cold forget!
Covering the burning caress
Stan young Bacchante,
Revel in the old fairy tale
About love, is always alive!
Spring 1898
St. Petersburg
