A week son of the dying generation,
I would not seek the roses of Alps,
I will not gain the beautiful sensation,
Not from wave-s noise, nor from young tempests hums.
But I would see on fields of scarlet glass
The brilliant and forever crying highlands,
The faded flowers in whites of tables- vase,
The ornament, that flame of evening founds.
And when my head has sunk in nightly rest,
I read dreamed stories, lost of any real,
Forgotten words of books, burned in forgotten past,
In hazy sleep, I kiss with hot appeal.
Ego
Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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Poem topics: beautiful, kiss, lost, sleep, son, forever, evening, head, generation, young, real, flame, noise, glass, brilliant, gain, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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