White slave

East ... Beauty - lovely as the moon.
You froze, looking at her ... she is alone.
Her chiseled camp captivated you,
And to tear your gaze is beyond your strength.
And you squeeze the scarlet rose in your hand,
And you drown in thoughts as if in a river ...
The movements are smooth, the shine of her clothes ...
You are full of feelings, doubts and hopes.

And all the crimson drops fall into the glass ...
Rose's thorn stuck. Oh, you're gone!
... And outside the window - only the trills of the Nightingale,
And the whisper of the Wind: "Darling ... - not yours ..."