White Night - Pasternak

I'm imagining a distant time,
The house is on the side of St. Petersburg.
The daughter of a wealthy landowner steppe,
You are on courses, you come from Kursk.
you are sweet, you have fans.
This with a white night we both,
Perched on your windowsill,
Look down from your skyscraper.
lights, exactly the butterfly gas,
Morning touched first tremor.
Then, that I tell you quietly, Ali looks!
We are covered by the same samoyu
Dismayed loyalty secret,
How sprawling panorama
Petersburg of Neva boundless.

yonder, by dremuchym tracts,
This night of spring white
Nightingales words of praise from the rumbling
Announce the forest limits.

Frantically clicking rolls.
The voice of small bird Lyada
Awakens delight and confusion
In the depths of the enchanted thickets.

In those places barefoot wanderer
Night sneaking along the fence,
And behind it stretches from the windowsill
After podslushannogo conversation.

The echoes of conversations heard
After Saddam, ohorozhennыm planks,
Yablonovy branches and cherries
Dress color whitish.

And the trees, as ghosts, white
Pour the crowd on the road,
Similarly, making the signs of farewell
white night, issuing so many.
Spring thaw

sunset lights burning out.
Rasputytsey a boron deaf
In a distant farmstead in the Urals
Trailed top man.

Chatted horse spleen,
And ringing slaps horseshoes
Dear echoed after
The water in the craters springs.

When he lowered the reins
And step horseback riding,
laminating flood
Near all the rumble and roar of their.

I laughed someone, cried someone,
Crumbled stones on silicon,
And falling in swirls
Uproot the stumps.

And at sunset conflagration,
In the distant branches procherni,
As a booming bell alarm bell,
He raged nightingale.

Where his widow willow ochipok
clones, overhangs a ravine,
How old Nightingale the Robber,
He whistled at seven oaks.
some trouble, a sweetheart
This meant zeal?
In one rifle buckshot
He launched a thicket?
Seemed, So he will leshim
With the halt runaway convicts
Towards the horse or on foot
Partizan stand zdeshnih.
Earth and sky, forest and field
We caught this rare sound,
Measured the proportion of
madness, pain, happiness, torment.

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Vladimir Mayakovsky
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