Conceived in the night, I was born on the night,
And I cried, prozrev:
So mournful was my mother moan,
So black the hollow night.
When dusk thinned,
Dull day resulted
Tangle of monotonous cases,
Bezradostnыy tangle.
That there should be - it should be,
So I sang from childhood
Hurdy-gurdy in the low window,
And now - I became a poet.
Love blossomed in curls
And sorrow eyes.
And I was locked in chains
Women have a lot of time.
And all, both should be, gone:
Love, poetry, yearning:
All took on track
calm river.
As the night blind, so I was blind,
And I thought to live blind…
But once we discovered a dark crypt,
told: God be with you.
That night was a white ice drift,
Spilling water autumn.
I thought: "Here, the river goes ".
And I went ahead.
That night the river was dark as pitch,
And in the night and in the darkness
That - unknown, came
And I stood on the bridge.
She was - a living fire
Of snow and wines.
And if you looked into her eyes,
he knows, who is she.
And quietly hand took
And I looked into the face.
And the white mask gave
And the light ring.
"Enough to live, leave word,
I, like a blizzard, call,
Inoyu life alive,
Otherwise bright fire ".
she calls. she beckons.
The snows of the earth and the firmament.
That sings to me? What do I ring?
another life? Or death?
12 April 1907
