Nikolay Rubtsov
Hey, Russia

Hey you there, Russia — my beloved land!
I feel so good within your deep green forests!
No singing heard, but I do sense it now,
I sense the song of some unseen strange chorus...

It was as if the wind drove me ahead,
Through all my land — it's villages and cities!
Yes, I was strong, but stronger was the wind,
I had no chance to stop and fix my breathing.

Hey you there, Russia — my beloved land!
My bond to you, your hay, your stalks of harvest,
My simple house amidst the endless fields,
Will hold right through, in spite the worst of hardships.

For all world's riches I won't give away
That lowly shack with nettle by the entrance,
Where in the evenings weary sun would move
Like some old friend into my humble chambers.

Where all the vastness, earthly and divine,
Would fill my window perfect peace and quiet,
Both bringing breeze of ancient days bygone,
And celebrating every day's own riot. 

Translated by I. Milner