It was sultry from blazing light

And his every glance—like a flame.

I only started: that is right.

Me—only this one can tame.

He bent,—in a casual, low tone …

The blood sharply left my hot face.

Let love stop—like a tombstone—

My life’s even, measured pace.

You do not love me? Will not even see?

O cursed be your looks—so charming.

And I cannot soar up, free.

I, who was born for flying.

I bite my quivering lip,

Things and faces grow misty and roll,

And only one thing—the tulip,

The tulip in your buttonhole.

As the rules of decorum do say

You came up to me, eyebrow arched,

Half-caressingly, in your lazy way

With a kiss my hand lightly touched—

The mysterious, deep ancient eyes

Of an icon looked right into mine …

Ten years of the heart’s dyings and cries,

Of my long, sleepless nights and all sighs

I put in a short quiet word,

And I said it in vain.

Off you went as if you had not heard,

And the soul got empty and clear again.