Nikolay Rubtsov
At moments of music

At moments of so sad an air
When for a yellow shore I wish
A lady's voice bids, «May you fare
Well» as impulsive birch trees swish;

Below the gray sky, first are snows
To lie on fields where flames have lain,
The sunless, faithless flyway goes
For many a snow driven crane...

It's been long since my soul was all in
To range through bygone love and sprees,
Long since it's time I saw this palling
With too much love for ghosts I'm seized.

But after all in mean abodes —
To stop these short is hard enough —
The violins in swapping modes
Wail for the yellow shore, for love.

It's under the low sky where I
Still see the yellow shoreline squish,
Voice dear enough to make me cry,
And those impulsive birch trees swish.

This farewell hour will wind up ne'er,
Of time, there's nothing to be heard...
At moments of so sad an air
Pray do say nothing; mum's the word

Translated by Scythian Dead