My soul! When you'll stop believing?
The spring! The spring! She is languid
Like secret of the door half-opened
To the joss-house of golden dream...
Not long ago I left my maiden
I went away to calm and shade
And here the other calls again,
The other gives the rise to day...
But with the vernal mist is weaved
All that seethed here in my brest...
Don't sing, don't call me, Margarita,
And please don't look into my heart...
My soul
© Copyright: Марианна Шихарбеева, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107062600156
Свидетельство о публикации №107062600156
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