She was as pure as snow in winter.
In the filth - the sables - run on it by right.
But then her letter burns my hands -
I learn the tormenting truth...
I didnít know: that humility is only a mask
And the masquerade ends now, -
Yes, this time I endured a fiasco -
Hoping, that was the last time.
I thought: My days are counted,
That bad blood had entered my veins, -
I crushed the letter like the head of a snake -
And through my fingers trickled the poison of unfaithfulness.
I wonít know about suffering and agony, -
The oncoming wind will wipe away my tears,
Insult will not catch up with my horses,
The blizzard will not cover my tracks.
Hence, I leave behind me,
Under this gray unsightly sky,
The odour of violets, the nakedness of carnations
And tears in a jumble with thawing snow.
Moscow donít believe neither tears nor a drop of tear,
I donít intend sobbing any more, -
I hurry towards new duels -
And, like always, intend to win!