Autumn morning - Pushkin

uproar; flute field
I announced my solitude,
And with the image of a mistress dredge
Last flied dreams.
From heaven already slipped night shadow
Vzoshla fireworks, shines pale day -
And me round the dull desolation ...
I do not have it ... I was off the coast of,
Where lovely went clear in the evening;
On the shore, on green meadows
I have found little visible traces,
Left foot of her beautiful;
Thoughtfully wandering in the wilderness forests,
I uttered the name of incomparable;
I called her - and a solitary voice
Empty valleys called her in the distance.
By the creek came, attracted by dreams;
Its jet flowed slowly,
I do not tremble in them the image of the unforgettable. —
I do not have it!.. Until sweet spring
I'm just a bliss and soul. —
Oh autumn cold hand
Heads of birch and linden trees are bare,
It is noisy in oak deserted;
There's night and day turned yellow leaf,

It is foggy on the waves have cooled,
And the instant you hear the wind whistling.
fields, hills, familiar oaks!
Keepers of the sacred silence!
Witnesses my anguish, fun!
Forgotten you ... to the sweet spring!

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Vladimir Mayakovsky
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