Ну вот вчера был дождь, сегодня — ясно. А женщина — как погода, её не надо понимать.
I go to concert, party, ball —
What profit is in these?
I sit alone against the wall
And strive to look at ease.
The incense that is mine by right
They burn before her shrine;
And that’s because I’m seventeen
And She is forty-nine.
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