Serghey Esenin ------------------------------------------------------------ * * * ------------------------------------------------------------ I don't cry, don't pity and not call, Whatsoever go'ff as white apple-tree's a smoke. A wast away me gilds like nature all, I'll never be with youngster's whole my a joke. ------------------------------------------------------------ My heart, you'll never be so pulse, And you, alas, are touched with light a cold, And in my country of the birch's cloth Yet will never lure to gad me by a barefoot go. ------------------------------------------------------------ Spirit vagrant! You so rarely seldom Moves the flame of the mouth' chance. Oh, my freshness, you are me abandon, My violence eyes' and flood of sense. ------------------------------------------------------------ All we, all we would not be in this world ever, Maples drop their leaves' of copper calm. So, ought to be with bless for-ever What had come for flourishing and die... ------------------------------------------------------------ 1921 | 
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