Sergey Esenin
Rusi
You have one lash wreath,
Flowers stew gray stitch.
About Russia, the late corner,
I love you, and I believe you.
I look in the expanse of your fields,
You are all far and near.
Akin to my whistling cranes
And the path is not alien to the slimy
The marsh font is blooming,
Kuga is calling for vespers long
And the bushes ring drops
Dew cold and healing.
And though you mist is driving away.