Our fair gray eyed king will no longer reign.
One autumn evening was stuffy and red,
My dear old husband solemnly said:
“Hunters brought him all wrapped up in a cloak,
They found his dead body at the old oak.
Pity the queen. He was so young and gay!..
Just overnight her brown locks turned to gray.”
Then from the mantle he picked up his pipe,
And he departed for work in the night.
I shall wake up my small daughter from sleep,
Stare in her gray eyes and quietly weep.
Out poplars rustle as if they deplore:
“Your gray eyed king is with us no more…”
December 11, 1910
Translated by Dina Belyayeva