Синеокая, бог тебя... - пер. А. Блока
A genius of my first love.
He became silent, washed by the rainstorms,
Begins to sing as a wasp venomous.
Swings the traces of the past days,
He doesn't have an easy name.
Again I see the thin hands, again
I hear the spunds throaty there.
Again I sink in the blueness deep
In reality, and not in a dream.
1897 - 1909
Bad Nauheim
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