Storm - Yesenin

Drohnuly leaves, swayed maples,
With golden branches flew dust ...
rustled winds, gasped forest green,
Whispered with echoes of a dried grass mat ...

Crying at the window cloudy storm,
Ponagnulis willow in a glass darkly
And swaying branches, hang one's head,
And with longing look sullen gloom in ...

And in the distance, vilification, crawling clouds,
And a roaring river serdito groznaya,
Raises water splashes cliffs,
As if the earth throws a strong arm.

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Vladimir Mayakovsky
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