Oh Soul! When will you stop trusting?
Spring, spring! It surely is languid,
As a light mystery of door ajar, see,
To a joss-house of your golden dream…
Hardly I left the friend-girl, tending
To find a silence and a peace,
Then other one is calling, craving
For me again to day appear…
But chest is wreathed with darkness, keeping
The spring, that well boiled some time…
Don’t sing, don’t ask me, Margarita,
Don’t look, my dear, in my heart…
26 march 1908
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