There halls turned to darkness and pallor,
And a window lattice - to black.
The vassals whispered silently at doors:
'Our Queen, Queen got the illness day back'.
And the King, having frowned his brows,
Walked without the servants alone.
And the every dropped word did he follow
All about the ill irrevocable.
Before doors of silent cold bedroom
I was crying and grasping the ring.
In the distance - in gallery end there
Man with closed pale face did repeat.
At the doors of my Beautiful Lady
I was crying in raincoat light-blue.
And unsteady the other man echoed,
With unknown pale face hitherto.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem