Roses in silken bouillon:
Opening onto the azure silk
A line of cabins on a yellow bed -
Shells of Aphrodite.

Who wouldn't feel the heat,
Or drink golden grog,
If the bulldog of tango
Were to spray its orange spit?

A lily-white Anglosaxon
with a straw-hat raquet catches
A blot-turned-comet -
A dog's dance! Blot tennis!

Seething foam, pods of boats
Snaking sunny rapiers -
And a swollen satyr
Points his kodak at the water.

Only you with a childish smile,
Standing in the hot stern,
Search for the fan of Sestroretsk
In the pale bronze smoke.