O, people under your fences
I carry orphan's complaint!

Complaint terrible like a viper,
Which chest binds up in the grave!

I sang with larks,
To Spring in spring she laughed –

Song blew on the graves
Wreath of calm adornment!..,

And I plaited a wreath
From flowers which I plucked in the soul,

People the snake's wreath,
Plaited on the temple – deathly…

I broke the string of beads,
And it got drowned somewhere in the waves –

O! so flow my years
Ruffled among the world …

That's probably because I suffer
That I fill a jug in the tears

And nobody saves me –
God, I will sense you!...

There white cross over the fence
  And under the cross the grave –
^[1] Oh! it's better that the orphan
  is not born on the world!...