I will lead a man to dear one --I don't want the little joy --And I'll quietly lay to sleepThe glad, tired little boy.In a chilly room once moreI will pray to Mother of God,It is hard to be a hermit,To be happy is also hard.Only fiery sleep will come to me,I'll enter a temple on the hill,Five-domed, white, and stone-hewn,On the paths remembered well.

How can you look at Nieva,How can on the bridges you rise?With a reason I'm sad since the timeYou appeared before my eyes.Sharp are black angels' wings,The last judgment is coming soon,And raspberry fires, like roses,In the white snow bloom.

I see capital through the flurryOn this Monday night twenty-first.Some do-nothing has made up the storyThat love exists on the earth.And from laziness or from boredomAll believed, and thus they live:Wait for meeting, fear the parting,And sing songs of love.But to others opens a secretAnd upon them descends a still.I by accident came upon thisAnd since then am as if I'm ill.

I’m not weeping, I’m not complaining,Happiness is not for me.