To woman, passed by…
By Alexander Blok
I’m only a bachelor and poet,
The scion of the north scald…
But your man carries always the tome of Wild,
The scotland plaid, the painted vest…
Your husband – is the scornful easthete.
He may be scoffing of surmise a lot,
Without limits, he is following,
Whom you greet to, whom bow to…
Gor me… Now his chimeras don’t mean
Any a matter! I love you!
With chasubles of treachery, of lie,
Of flattery – you’re apparelled…
Say me today, the faithful wife,
Did you feel shiver from a secret love?
Were you once with a feeling catched?
And did your sleepy, jealous, awkward spouse
Whisper to you: ‘Let’s go, friend…’,
Having wrapped up you in a green plaid
In order to shield you from snows
In Petersburg one winter day?
And wasn’t your eye so tricky, longing
After a ball, when you draw off
The airy dress from your slope shoulders,
Having been poisoned lightly all
By dancing with a feel of love?
2 June 1908
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