Nikolay Zabolotsky
Let me, my starling, get into your little house!..

Let me, my starling,
                    get into your little house!
Take me up into your bird's residence!
I'll give up my soul and heart in pledge
                    for your blue snowdrops!

The spring whistles, sings, pipes, mumbles!
Silver and white poplars are in the water
                    up to knees!
The maples wake up from long winter dream,
Their leaves, like butterflies, flap the wings!

There are muddle and mess on the fields,
Brooks and streams are talking
                    nonsense everywhere!
Let us all leave the garrets and
Let's throw ourselves in the groves!

Please, my starling, start your serenade!
You are our first singer, who got
Through many trials of the historical
                    kettle-drums!

You are our first spring singer from
                    the birch conservatory!
Please, open your show, the whistling
                    and piping bird!

Throw to the back your little pink head!
Turn upside down the radiant, shining,
Beaming sinsitivity of the chords and strings
In the troats of the birch groves!

I, may be, could try to do it myself,
But the butterfly-wanderer whispered into my ear:
"If you'll yell and shout
                    at the top of your voice in the spring,
Then, in the summer time,
                    you'll break your vocal chords!

Oh, spring! You are so beautiful and chirming!
The lilac branches embrace my soul...
Please, lift the starling house, my heart,
Above your magic spring gardens!

My little starling, settle down
                    on the high punt-pole,
Braze into spring sky, my dilightful bird,
Stick to the Star by your cute web —
Together with your bird's patters!

Turn to the world outlook by your
                    bird's little face
And uphold the honour of magic spring flowers —
                    blue snowdrops!
Travel with another bustling starling bird
                    by the spring fields!

Translated by Yanina Sitnyakovskaya