A.Blok, I've cut out a staff... - translation (rus.)
I've cut out a staff from the oak
With tender such whisper of blizzard.
My cloths are so rude and so poor,
Oh, may be unworthy, uneasy!
But being a beggar, undoubtly,
I'll find the true road this day.
The sun, I say you: go out!
I've just come to window main!
And there in frosty nice evening
The young girl will open a door
With her pale hand; silent greeting
I'll hear: 'Please, enter, my Lord...'
She's a beauty with a long golden hair,
The moon and the stars are therein.
So bright she is shining, and fair,
That my staff dropped the precious tear...
25 march 1903
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