To know, there is nothing between us,
We'll be strangers tomorrow again.
How fervently she searches through her cards at midnight for a glimpse at her fortune, waiting for the words: “I love you.” Yet, reality, be it death or the more mundane cries of the merchants in the market place, intervenes and breaks the spell.
The poet cannot cry, nor can she share her thoughts with others:
And no one will know, that I,
So recently loved you.
The loss of her lover leads to despair and brings back those fears of the unknown and her loneliness.
I don’t know, what will become of me,
But it's frightening to look ahead.
But it's so frightening, that I must all alone
Traverse this entire path unknown.
In an attempt to escape these thoughts she turns to earlier memories of childhood “On the ship” or tries to lose herself among the painted beauties in the Hermitage Museum where:
I pray for my poor soul
And press my lips to the Madonna.
The religious symbolism, the churches and the bells are one refuge for her and recurring Leitmotivs in her work. She resigns herself to the loss of her loved one and decides to abandon the search for “buried treasure.” Her decision grants peace and sleep, and her resolution is firm but shortlived.
The second notebook is one of transition from Petrograd to Berlin from the fall of 1921 to the winter and end of 1922. Once again Gumilev’s death occupies a prominent place at the beginning of the book, but he is soon replaced by Vaginov, who has stolen the poet’s heart. Vera’s departure from Russia and journey to Riga and then on to Berlin give rise to another major theme of her poetry-her memories of Petrograd, the city of white, so different from the black asphalt streets and daily reality of Berlin. The holiday season of 1921 is particularly painful as she recalls earlier Christmases in Russia. The day in Germany carries none of the happiness of childhood and has almost passed unnoticed.
I probably lost my heart
In the twilight at Warsaw Station
And now I know nothing
And for everyone today is Christmas.
On New Year’s Eve she takes to her room and alone in bed she fantasizes of a lover, who is not there.
Throughout these poems there is a constancy and faithfulness this the motherland. In her poem “On Sunday” she clearly expresses this devotion motivated by the Sunday church bells which recall the sights and sounds of her beloved Petersburg.
I'm faithful to you even in a foreign land
My black-earthed, native Rus,
And your patterned, motley colored lines
I’ll carefully touch with my verses.