Mother of God Soothe My Sorrows
Before the coffin was, lights, quiet.
And beyond the grave - in a mourning veil
It was the bride, seeing the bride…
Was it just a fashion writer,
Only the creator of blasphemous words…
But the dead man - the soul of his native folk:
Everyone reveres it end.
And bowing toward, baptized
Mnogodumny, laborious forehead.
But friends and family pylili
the icon, it, of grave…
And with a kind of infinite sadness
(Not about him - God knows whom?)
She received words of sympathy
And for the occasional wreath wreath…
These phrases hackneyed repetition,
Nobody the right words -
It has built in the crown of creation,
In a secret smile of the Deity…
like here, where they sang and burned incense,
Where sadness can not be silent,
Remove it from the veil of dust
And I waited for the Other Bridegroom…
6 July 1908
