The guitar strings were drawn,
Heart waits.
Touch it with a young voice –
It sings well!
And the old man before a choir
Tromped with feet.
Burn me with your eyes, voice,
Ksyusha, sing!
The guttural sounds then
Went out,
As if in silver the dark hands
Wrapped round…
The delirium of passion,
Rave of love…
The unbelievable happiness!
Na! Take now!
19 Dec 1913
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