Sergey Esenin
Shaganeh, my divine Shaganeh!..

Shaganeh, my divine Shaganeh!
It’s the North, I suppose, that inspires me,
And to talk of our fields never tires me,
Of the rye where the moon shadows play.
Shaganeh, my divine Shaganeh!

It’s the North, I suppose, that inspires me.
Can your moon with our huge moon compare?.
Be Shiraz city ever so fair,
It’s Ryazan’s rolling plains that delight me,
It’s the North, I suppose, that inspires me.

And to talk of our fields never tires me,
And I took my fair locks from the rye.
Take a lock round your finger to tie —
No ruffling will pain or surprise me,
And to talk of our fields never tires me.

Of the rye where the moon shadows play
In my curls you will find a suggestion.
O my darling, keep smiling and jesting,
Only never remind me, I pray,
Of the rye where the moon shadows play.

Shaganeh, my divine Shaganeh!
In the North is a girl who is waiting
And your likeness to her is amazing,
And it may be she murmurs my name...
Shaganeh, my divine Shaganeh.

Translated by Peter Tempest