Сергей Есенин
«Не жалею, не зову, не плачу...»
I don't pity, I don't call, don't cry,
I am covered in a misery of gold,
Just like apple bloom, all things will go away,
And I won't grow any younger, I'll grow old.
Heart won't beat inside of me as usual
Being touched by coldness of deacay,
Blissful birch chintz land of all eternal -
It won't call me anymore these days.
Wanders' spirit, you come here too rare,
You don't move me as you used to do,
Oh, how I miss that freshness in myself,
Sparkling eyes and fullnes of my youth.
My dear life, I really doubt you lately,
Were you there or was it all a dream -
Rushed through meadow in an early morning
And then wanished into distant beam.
We, mere mortals, lucky to be here
Longer that a falling leaf at best.
Blessed forever must be all that's transient
Whose bloom must for sure come to rest.
Post #192
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