And the town is frozen solid in a vice, Trees, walls, snow, beneath a glass. Over crystal, on slippery tracks of ice, the painted sleighs and I, together, pass. And over St Peters there are poplars, crows...
How helplessly chilled was my chest, yet My footsteps were nimble and light. I unconsciously put on my left hand The glove that belonged on my right. It seemed that the stairs were endless,...
Twenty-first. Night. Monday. Silhouette of the capitol in darkness. Some good-for-nothing -- who knows why-- made up the tale that love exists on earth.