Nobody had taken nothing off -
I'm pleased, that we are apart!
I'm kissing you via hundreds,
Dividing us - miles.
I know, that our gift is not equal,
My voice for the first time is - silent.
What is for thee, young Derzhavin,
My naughty, uneven poem?
Before the horrorful flying
I'm cris-crossing thee:
- Fly up, the young eagle!
Thee had passed through sun,
Without thy eyes squinted.
Is my young look so heavy, ain't it?
With so tender and unturnable sight
Nobody had after thee stared...
I'm kissing you via hundreds,
dividing us - years.
12 feb 1916