Ecstasy Is A Glass Full Of Tea

There Yet Remains But One Concluding Tale, And Then This Chronicle Of Mine Is Ended - Fulfilled, The Duty God Ordained To Me, A Sinner. Not Without Purpose Did The Lord, Put Me To Witness Much For Many Years, And Educate Me In The Love Of Books. One Day Some Indefatigable Monk, Will Find My Conscientious, Unsigned Work; Like Me, He Will Light Up His Ikon-lamp, And, Shaking From The Scroll The Age-old Dust, He Will Transcribe These Tales In All Their Truth.

I Loved You: And, It May Be, From My Soul The Former Love Has Never Gone Away, But Let It Not Recall To You My Dole; I Wish Not Sadden You In Any Way. I Loved You Silently, Without Hope, Fully, In Diffidence, In Jealousy, In Pain; I Loved You So Tenderly And Truly, As Let You Else Be Loved By Any Man.

I Do Not Like Moscow Life. You Live Here Not As You Want To Live, But As Old Women Want You To.

Then Came A Moment Of Renaissance, I Looked Up - You Again Are There, A Fleeting Vision, The Quintessence Of All That`s Beautiful And Rare.

I’ve Lived To Bury My Desires, And See My Dreams Corrode With Rust; Now All That’s Left Are Fruitless Fires That Burn My Empty Heart To Dust.