Ñâåòëèíàòà â íàøèòå öèãàðè
ñè îòèäå è äîéäå â ìðàêà;
áåøå òúìíî â ìàëêàòà íè ñòàÿ
Òúìíî, à ïîñëå â òúìàòà
âíåçàïåí áëÿñúê, ñâåòëèíà -
ðúêà è ïðúñòåí, âå÷å çà ìåíå ïîçíàòè
È ïîñëå - ïàê ïðåç ìðàêà ÿðúê ëú÷
áëåä è ðóìåí - è ãðàöèîçåí -
ðîçà - íà íåéíîòî ëèðè÷íî ëèöå
Pastel*
The light of our cigarettes
Went and came in the gloom:
It was dark in the little room.
Dark, and then, in the dark,
Sudden, a flash, a glow,
And a hand and a ring I know.
And then, through the dark, a flush
Ruddy and vague, the grace—
A rose—of her lyric face