Morning spring sunshine is drunken,
And on the terrace smell the roses more audible,
A brighter sky blue faience.
Book cover in soft morocco;
I read in her elegies and stanzas,
Written by my grandmother.
The way I see the gate, and curbstones
Whiten well in the emerald turf.
ABOUT, heart love sweet and blindly!
And please pestreyuschie beds,
And the sharp cry of the crows in the sky black,
And in the depths of the alley arch vault.
2 November 1910
Wind blows hot stuffy,
The sun burned hands,
Above me a set of air,
Like a blue glass;
Dry pahnut immortel
The dispersed Spit.
On the trunk gnarled fir
Pond lazily silvery,
Life in a new light ...
Who today is my dream
The variegated grid hammock?
blue night. Winds subsided meekly,
Bright light is calling me home.
I think. Who's there? - if the bride,
Is it not my fiance?..
On the terrace of the familiar silhouette,
Barely heard quiet conversation.
ABOUT, a captivating languor
I did not know until now.
Poplars rustled alarmingly,
Gentle visited their dreams,
Sky color blue steel,
Stars mats pale.
I carry a bouquet of white Levkoev.
For in them is hidden the secret fire,
Who, taking flowers from the timid hands,
Warm hand touch.
I wrote the words,
That for a long time did not dare to say.
Strangely numb body.
Stopped a distant horn,
At the heart of all the same puzzles,
Light snow fall
He lay down on the croquet court.
The last leaves rustling!
Thoughts last languish!
I did not want to disturb
So, who used to have fun.
Sweet lips forgiven
I have them a cruel joke ...
ABOUT, you come to us
Candles in the living room will light,
Day of their more gentle flicker,
Bring a whole bunch
Roses from the plant.