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I am fated for silence.
And why must I talk?
Won’t forget how to suffer.
Won’t get tired of love.
We’re evoked
Without finish…
It is time we depart…
They’re carrying scarlet
Beside four thorny crowns.
Filled with flames
And with love
Is my dying, my wandering stare…
O, come close to my side –
All sprawled out, and in blood,
I lay still at the foot of the mountains.
How I burst into trembling right above the abyss,
And then dropped to the valley, where a little stream sings.
When a hefty stone, with a whistle
Suddenly knocked me aground –
And this hefty stone, with a whistle,
Battered my temple right down.
Now at rest in the fields of May-lilies –
I’m a flower agape, filled with blood –
And no longer heaving in torture,
My chest that’s at last grown cold.
Don’t leave me, my friend
Don’t forget me!..
- 1903, Moscow - Andrey Bely