May be, in my previous a-being,
I’ve cut the throats of my Mom and Dad,
If in this one – Lord of all the living! —
I have been doomed to suffering like that.
If I call for dogs of mine, aloud,
Or just try my own horse to see,
Not obeying all my signs and shouts,
They would promptly run away from me.
If I come to the enchanting foam
Of my native and well-known sea,
Then the sea would blacken from the woe
And fast go back, away from me.
My day looks like looks a man extinguished,
And my work – like somebody’s else strife,
Mine – is only pine of undistinguished,
Non-platonic and unworthy love.
Let the deathly languor be in action,
I’ll not stop to wait the time, when
In my future version of creation,
I’ll become a gallant knight again.