And now you're heavy and dull,
Renounced glory and dreams,
But for me irreparably cute,
And the darker, the touching you.
You drink wine, your unclean night,
What reality, do not you know, that the dream,
But green painful eyes, —
peace, it is seen, I not found in wine.
And my heart only to die soon asks,
Cursing fate slowness.
Increasingly, the west wind brings
Your reproaches and your prayers.
But would I go back to you dare?
Under the pale sky of my homeland
I only know how to sing and remember,
Do you remember me and do not you dare.
So the days go, sadness multiplying.
How do I pray to the Lord for you?
You guessed it: my love this,
That even you could not kill her.
22 May 1917, Slepnevo