To the Muse (Aleksandr Blok Poem)
In your hidden memories There are fatal tidings of doom... A curse on sacred traditions, A desecration of happiness; And ...
In your hidden memories There are fatal tidings of doom... A curse on sacred traditions, A desecration of happiness; And ...
The river stretched. It flows, idly grieves, And washes both banks. In steppe, above light clay of cliffs Rinks mourn ...
The restaurants on hot spring evenings Lie under a dense and savage air. Foul drafts and hoots from dunken revelers ...
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