Alexander Blok
The willow-boughs

Lads and lasses gathering,
Willow-boughs and tapers bring,
That they homeward bear.

Warmly do the flamelets glow,
Wayfarers cross them as they go;
Spring-tide scents the air.

Little breeze from far away,
Rain, O rain, with tiny spray,
Quench ye not the flame.

For Palm Sunday earliest,
I to-morrow stir from rest,
Holy-day to acclaim.

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Note: It is almost impossible to reproduce in English' rhyme the delicate simplicity of the original, with its diminutives and the tripping melody of its metre.

Translated by Paul Selver