А это уже Ахматова, тоже в моём переводе: Twenty first of the Monday. The night. And the capital’s lines in the dark. So, some slacker came up with a mind: Our world has the love, true and stark. Either due to the boredom or sloth, People took it on faith and live so: Fearing parting, they sing of their love, To the trysts with excitement they go. Yet, some secret reveals to the few, And they are by the silence appeased… I found out it out of blue And since then feel like being diseased. 1917