By Alexander Blok
And again you long for a fun
to fun,
Oh, hy heart, the gold of mine!
From a crapulence to other one,
From a freedom to other one –
Such a careless free life!
But is low much an earth cell,
Pale much is all your gold!
In the hour of the great fun –
Suddenly could wave a deep hurt,
With their black wings – a ravens’ flock!
Now I’m really unpricked
All with you, the snake in grass!
With your blue-black plait you, dear,
Braid the amateur – and fine:
You’re mine and not all mine!
You’re with me and not with me, girl –
Always aim to the other lands!
Braiding me with your plait over,
You will hear, grasping breath,
The dead call of the ravens black!
7 december 1908
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