The Petersburg twilights are snowy.
Look - is outside, roses - at home...
Thoughts - as girl has, gentle and slow,
What's about? - I can't determine.
I'm looking still in my dream mirror...
(He, perhaps, looks in window now...)
Here's my face - evil, loving! Oh, wrong!
I'm tired of it! Up to down!
And the singing of voice, low sound,
And my snowy-white hands, to show,
My so thin and nice red hairs, now
They reside long to nobody, though!
Husband's gone! Light is awful and cheerless...
But my blood reddens... there in light...
Let me see, if he's here or not here?
So is he... Ah, he's nagging by sight!
15 March 1914
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem