O’er the sprawl time’s thrown
A crepuscule of tin.
The horizon’s unsewn,
From the walks spills the din.
All the vain foretelling
Is for me to assume.
The plants’ panes are welling
With the dissolute gloom.
To all follies their aid
The tin roofings extend.
On this city of trade
No heavens descend.
In the resonant air,
An enticing twist
As some walk leads me there,
Into grey-blue mist…
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«Вечность бросила в город…», 1904
Blok A. Over the sprawl times thrown...
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