Ìíå îñòàëàñü îäíà çàáàâà:
Ïàëüöû â ðîò - è âåñ¸ëûé ñâèñò.
Ïðîêàòèëàñü äóðíàÿ ñëàâà,
×òî ïîõàáíèê ÿ è ñêàíäàëèñò.

Àõ, êàêàÿ ñìåøíàÿ ïîòåðÿ!
Ìíîãî â æèçíè ñìåøíûõ ïîòåðü.
Ñòûäíî ìíå, ÷òî ÿ â áîãà âåðèë.
Ãîðüêî ìíå, ÷òî íå âåðþ òåïåðü.

Çîëîòûå, äàë¸êèå äàëè!
Âñ¸ ñæèãàåò æèòåéñêàÿ ìðåòü.
È ïîõàáíè÷àë ÿ è ñêàíäàëèë
Äëÿ òîãî, ÷òîáû ÿð÷å ãîðåòü.

Äàð ïîýòà - ëàñêàòü è êàðÿáàòü,
Ðîêîâàÿ íà í¸ì ïå÷àòü.
Ðîçó áåëóþ ñ ÷¸ðíîþ æàáîé
ß õîòåë íà çåìëå ïîâåí÷àòü.

Ïóñòü íå ñëàäèëèñü, ïóñòü íå ñáûëèñü
Ýòè ïîìûñëû ðîçîâûõ äíåé.
Íî êîëü ÷åðòè â äóøå ãíåçäèëèñü -
Çíà÷èò, àíãåëû æèëè â íåé.

Âîò çà ýòî âåñåëèå ìóòè,
Îòïðàâëÿÿñü ñ íåé â êðàé èíîé,
ß õî÷ó ïðè ïîñëåäíåé ìèíóòå
Ïîïðîñèòü òåõ, êòî áóäåò ñî ìíîé, -

×òîá çà âñå çà ãðåõè ìîè òÿæêèå,
Çà íåâåðèå â áëàãîäàòü -
Ïîëîæèëè ìåíÿ â ðóññêîé ðóáàøêå
Ïîä èêîíàìè óìèðàòü.
Translation:

What I have retained of my own -
Just a whistle. That's all I can.
What I've got - just an ill renown
Of a ribald and filthy man.

What a funny and comic disfavor!
Life is full of this comic woe.
It's a shame I despised my Savior.
It's a pity I can't stand Him now.

Golden vistas, so far, so distant -
All's got burned in life's fiery gyre,
And my ribaldry was so indecent
Just to make it a brighter fire.

Poets always caressed and scrawled.
They are destined to act like that.
Snow-white roses and muddy toads
Were the ones whom I wanted to wed.

Though I failed, both in parts and in whole,
To achieve that ambitious dream,
But if Satan obsessed the soul
So the angels abode therein.

Now it's time to depart from here.
Fore the moment I turn cold and still
I would like the ones who'll be near
To accomplish my dying will.

So that they, for all of my bygones,
For my sins which were hard and dark,
Let me die on a bed under icons
Simply clad in the Russian sark.