You do not love me, do not regret,
Am I a little handsome?
Without looking in the face, you are thrilled with passion,
Putting your hands on my shoulders.
Young, with a sensual grin,
I'm not gentle with you and I'm not rude.
tell me, how many did you caress?
How many hands do you remember? How many lips?
I know - they passed, the shadows,
Without touching your fire,
To many you sat on your knees,
And now you sit here with me.
Let your eyes half closed
And you think of somebody else,
I don't really love you myself,
Drowning in the distant road.
Do not call this ardor fate,
Easy-thinking hot-tempered connection, –
How I happened to meet you,
Smile, quietly dispersed.
Yes, and you will go your own way
Diffuse bleak days,
Just don't touch the unkissed,
Only do not beckon the immature.
And when with another down the lane
You will pass, talking about love,
May be, I will go out for a walk,
And we will meet with you again.
Turning your shoulders to another closer
And leaning down a little,
You tell me quietly: "Good evening!»
I'll answer: "Good evening, miss».
And nothing will disturb the soul,
And nothing will make her shiver, –
Who loved, he can't love,
Who burned out, you can't set it on fire.
4 December 1925