Now all is set, and I forsake
My homeland's woods and sunlit glare.
No longer will the poplars cleave
Their winged foliage in my hair.
The low house stoops without my height,
My faithful dog has long licked sod.
On crooked Moscow streets at night
I am to die, so promised God.
This town of elms, I love it well,
Decrepit, flabby – be it so.
And drowsy golden Asia's swell
Has died upon the rounded domes.
And when the moonlight gilds the sky –
Who knows just how it got that far!
My head hung down, I then espy
Across the street a well-known bar.
In foulest lair of noise and grime,
Through all the night until day's brink,
To hookers I will read sweet rhyme,
And heat my bones with thugs and drink.
My heart will rise as throbbing sun,
Then I will say, in whispered shout:
"I'm just like you, o fallen one –
I also have now no way out."
On crooked streets in Moscow bright,
My loving dog has fled the rod;
My measly house has stooped in fright:
I am to die, thus deemed my God.