I wore multicolored feathers,
I tempered my wings - and forward.
Above me, beneath me - Mistrust,
Spreads gloom - I'm waiting for.
Here sit, sinking into slumber,
Birds, satellites previous years.
All have forgotten, do not believe the flight
And they see, what I'm ready.
these poor, sleepy birds -
Do not shoot up a bunch of them in the morning,
Not notice the blink of the morning star,
Do not understand exclamations: It's time!
But my sparkle white wings,
and a closed, they shrink,
Depressed dreams impotence,
Falling asleep on the long days.
21 November 1902
