The Lethe’s wind is blowing over me
With anodyne and slow beatitude.
“Where should I with such a muteness be,
When the perfection is so blind and rude.”

Being exhausted, deathly granite grows
Silent and cold over the darkling water
“It’s time, my friend. The city sadly flows,
The night’s becoming pale and streets are empty;”

And — as upon a time – blue ice is sparkling bright,
It’s January again and I am waiting for you.
Your star again, my friend, is shimming through the night
Over the slow, sleepless, river Neva.

1926

Оригинал здесь, например:
http://stroki.net/content/view/10439/67/