And that was real, real, real,
The solar-circle days had gone.
What lie, what power inherent
Would help the past once back return?
In morning hour, clear and crystal,
Nearby the Moscow Kremlin, I
How could reveal the feel initial
Of strength of my earth's core delight?
Or in the night on Easter, over
The Neva-river, under wind,
In cold, when ice-drift - a woman old
With staff my corpse would hardly shift?
Or on my glade beloved with rustle
Of a grey-haired autumn, with loud scream
A young kite'd peck my body, hasting,
In lightnings in a rainstorm mist?
Or in the depth of grief unstarry
Within the four walls of my room,
Due to the iron-steel necessity
I'd fall on a white bedsheet to soothe?
In new life, all unlike today's one,
I'll surely forget the past,
Will I then Dodges learn, as now
I still remember Kalita?
But I believe, that nothing ever
Will be lost and without trace -
All that I loved with inner passion,
All life's unclear poor chase!
august 1909