Ever since St. Agrafena’s day,
He has kept my crimson shawl.
He gloats like King David, enthralled.
His frosty cell has walls of gray,
And no one talks to him at all.
I’ll go to his door and stand in his way,
“Return my shawl to me!” I’ll say.
Со дня Купальницы-Аграфены
Малиновый платок хранит.
Молчит, а ликует, как царь Давид.
В морозной келье белы стены,
И с ним никто не говорит.
Приду и стану на порог,
Скажу: «Отдай мне мой платок!»
«Passed over the birds threw the distance. / And heaven in autumn is blue. / Birds fly to the tropical countries, / And I still remain to you. / And I still remain forever / To you, oh, my dear Homeland. / And pearl Turkish coast I need not, / I need not the Africa’s lands. I’ve se...»
«All is frozen till dawn and only / (No creak of a door, no light) / Only someone's accordion lonely / Strolls about the streets whole night. In the fields he is going now, / Then comes back, as if changing his mind, / Like he's looking for someone around / But, in no way, manage...»
«The yellow birch leaves whirl and fall, / On earth they're quitely laying. / The ancient waltz "Dreams of the Fall" / Th'accordion is playing. / The music sings, complanes, and sighs, / And listening to its sound, / In dreamful slumber close threir eyes / My fellow-sold...»
«His home was burned down by foe, / They murdered all his kin and wife. / Where now the soldier has to go? / And what is left in his hard life? In a wide field the soldier found, / Near the crossing of two paths, / A desolate small burial mound, / Grown `over with a native grass. ...»