Pryide den

Z rumovyshch i vohnyu svii skarb naibilshyi – pravdy,
Ozloblenym boham ne viddanyi na mstu,
Vid vohnyshcha svoho vidhodyachy, zabrav ty
Z soboyu i nesesh kriz stuzu i slotu.

Pozadu posvysty, chyyis ohrypli kryky,
Chuzi slova v ustah, rozchavleni sercya,
I zlovorozyi hniv – takyi, yak tvii, velykyi,
Shcho strinetsya z tvoyim, zchepyvshys, do kincya.

Ta kriz tuman i dym, shchoraz pevnishe, blyzche,
Zryvayetsya, vstaye, – o dobre bachysh ty! –
Pid kataklizmom dniv: pid chornym boiovyshchem
Vysoke polum’ya yedynoyi mety.

I zdesh strashnyh nochei, hluhyh udariv kryci,
Tverdyh, yak sercya stuk, – ty yih tak dovho zdav! –
Az prostir peretnut trydzobi blyskavyci,
I hnivnyi rev styhii, i alkazary slav.