I am reading and reading and reading,
I am searching for truth in the words...
They are different: some of them chilling,
Some are pretty, the other are cold.
Dear, kiss me, kiss me, dear!
To the blood, or to the pain.
Now my boiling heart river
Is in war with a cold will chain.
It's frost and sun; the day is fine!
You still are drowsing, my friend -
But, dear Beauty, it is time
To wake up, and your eyes unveil
By Sergei Yesenin
Thee'd recollect this surely,
by Osip Mandelstam
I've returned to my town, my native, to tears,
The unbeautiful girl
by Nikolai Zabolotzky
Among the other playing children she
The smoke of sigarettes has emptied the air.
The room - takes my head to the circling hell.
Remember - behind this window for the first time, excited
I was stroking fervently your hands.
You don't love me, and at least, don't care...
Am I beautiful a little, dear girl?
You're, without looking straight in my face,
Going faint, just putting hand on shoulder.
There is the oak-tree in Lukomorye;
A golden chain is twisted over it:
And day and night a skilfull cat is going
So constantly round the tree;
By Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
translated from russian
To excite me again and again -