Balagan - Blok

Well, old horse, let's go to
breaking his Shakespeare
Kin.

Above the black road slush
Do not lift the fog.
driven, grunting, drugs
My faded circus.

Face the day of Harlequin
paler, than the face of Piero.
And the corner hides Columbine
tatters, stitched brightly ...

taschites, mourning nag!
Actors, Edit the craft,
To the truth walking
Everyone was hurt, and light!

In the recesses of the soul entered the mold,
But we must cry, sing, go.
To my paradise Overseas songs
Thorne opened the way.

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Alexander Pushkin
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