Above the church there are blue clouds,
A crows' cry...
And pass — the color of ash and sand —
Revolutionary troops... oh my
Blue-blooded, my kingly angst!
They don't have a face, don't have a name —
Nobody sings!
You got lost, the Kremlin ringing
In this banner forest full of wind.
Lie, Moscow, onto eternal sleep, and pray!
Над церко́вкой — голубые облака,
Крик вороний…
И проходят — цвета пепла и песка —
Революционные войска.
Ох ты барская, ты царская моя тоска!
Нету лиц у них и нет имён, —
Песен нету!
Заблудился ты, кремлёвский звон,
В этом ветреном лесу знамён.
Помолись, Москва, ложись, Москва, на вечный сон!
«To N.G. Chulkova There are such days before the spring: / When meadows rest beneath the snow, / And dry and cheerful branches swing / When gentle warm winds blow. / You marvel at your body’s lightness / And do not recognize your home, / You sing again with new excitement / The song ...»
«The fifth of the year’s seasons / One can’t extol it enough. / Breathe before freedom ceases, / All because, it is — love. / High up, the sky elevates, / The contours of things are light, / And the body won’t celebrate / The anniversary of its plight.»
«I myself had all the say / In my dear friend’s destiny: / On Annunciation Day, / I released him pensively. / But the blue-grey dove decided / To soar back to me, / Now, with archangel’s robe alighted, / The room gleams brilliantly.»
«You dreamt of me, I knew, / And hence, I couldn’t sleep. / The lantern flickered blue / And there, my path ran steep. You saw tsarina’s garden / And palace, and approached / The fence’s old black pattern, / Next to the stony porch. You ran, not knowing the way, / And thought: ...»