Ah, I didn't close the door,
Nor I was burning candles;
You don't know, how, been tired all,
To fall asleep I hesitated.
To look, how the stripes of light
Go down in the dark of fur-needles,
Got drunken by the sound of voice like
Your's, and that was bitter.
And to define, that all's once lost,
And life - was damned and hell!
Oh, I was sure, I loved thought,
That you'd come back!
6 Feb 1911,
Tsarskoye Selo
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem