I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . ."Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?"— Because I have made my loved one drunkwith an astringent sadness.
I'll never forget. He went out, reeling;his mouth was twisted, desolate. . .
I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters,and followed him as far as the gate.
And shouted, choking: "I meant it allin fun. Don't leave me, or I'll die of pain."He smiled at me — oh so calmly, terribly —and said: "Why don't you get out of the rain?"Kiev,
Translated by Stanley Kunitz (with Max Hayward)
