Summer evening on the Oka

Worlds are flying. Years are flying. The empty
Universe looks at us with its dark eyes.
And you, my soul, tired and deaf,
Are you still talking about happiness?

What is happiness? Evening coolness
In the darkening garden, in the depths of the forest?
Or the gloomy, vicious pleasures
Of wine, of passions, of the souls destruction?

What is happiness? A brief and narrow moment,
An oblivion, a dream, and a respite from worries...
When you wake up, youre back in the mad, unknown
And heart-stopping flight...

A. Blok, July 1912