The message to Yury Verkhovensky
The rain is small, the talk is slow,
From cilinder a lock of hair's seen,
The laugh is light, and some - unhallowed.
Is that a usual meeting?
But here - one of the lightest geniuses
With a hazy torch in his hand
Brought gift of your's into my dwelling,
Where I am anxious and sad.
Through rustle of autumn, autumn chilling
I recollect you, I love so
In all marks of the new beginning
In old and melancholy drawing.
We had a laugh, a joke and trick,
At least we all should sail forever
Through quick and fast and lanquid idyll
To night, into the mournfull elegy.
September 1910