Sergey Esenin
Black-earth allotment that savours of sweat...

Black-earth allotment that savours of sweat,
Can I deny you my love, my caress?

Away to the lake by the blue path I'll go,
My heart with the blessing of evening aglow.

The rough brushwood shelters in meadows are grey,
Conducive to slumber the reeds softly sway.

With blood а red bonfire is tinging the spits,
The white-lidded mon through the dry brushwood flits.

Sunset-flecked haymakers squat in the grass,
Hearing an old man tell tales of the past.

Round а far bend in the twilight somewhere
Fishermen are singing а slow sleepy air.

А leaden reflection the bare meadows don...
You echo the anguish of Russia, sad song.

Translated by Peter Tempest