Well, you may weep, when poet is gone...
While bells in the nearby temple ring
About him, who had exchanged this world
To lower world of worm's decomposition.
And, if you once re-read my sonnet,
Don't feel a pity of the cold hand,
I don't wish you to make haze on blossoming
Your clear eyes with memory of end.
I don't wish, that an echo of these lines
Would touch in your mind memory of me.
Let in one moment forever die
My breath and your love, dear!
I don't wish, that with your inner groan
You will be merged into the rumour's foam.