You will think about her as about your first bride,

To the point of tears in your dreams.

We did not inhale her fragrance together,

And you did not bring her to me.

She was brought to me

By that winged ruler of gods and muses,

When the peals of the first thunder

Glorified our terrible union.

That union that is called separation

And is torment to the hundredth power,

That is the purest and blackest of all.