A year from now, you’ll chance upon this verse,
You’ll see, perhaps, this sad song run its course
And ponder how the poet must have yearned
To give his heart for you, he must have burned.
Though strange a little, he could sing a song,
This tragic figure with his love so strong;
You’ll think, he is no more; he’s played his part
Beneath his verse, he buried his whole heart.
1907
В оригинале на татарском: Байроннан