I often dream strange and penetrating. On an unknown woman, and I love and who loves me And that is, every time, not quite the same Not quite another, and loves me and understands me. Because she understands me, and my heart, transparent to itself, alas! ceases to be a problem for itself, and the dampness on my forehead pale, she only knows the cool, crying. Is it brown, blonde or redhead? - I do not know. His name? I remember that he is sweet and sound like those that loved life exiled. His eyes are like the eyes of the statues, and, for her voice, distant and quiet and serious, it's expensive inflection of voices that are silent.

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