What a sadness! End of the alley
Again in the morning disappeared into the dust
Silver Snakes Again
Through the snowdrifts crawled.
There’s not a bit of azure in the sky,
Everything is smooth in the steppe, everything is white,
Only the raven against the storm
He flaps his wings heavily.
And the soul does not dawn
It’s the same cold that it’s all around,
Lazy Duma Falls Asleep
Over dying labor.
And all hope in the heart smolders
That, perhaps, by chance,
Again the soul will be younger
Again, the native will see the land,
Where the storms fly by
Where the passionate thought is pure
And the initiates only visibly
Spring blooms and beauty.
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