Источник грёз... Stream of dreams...

В горстке света... бродит лето... не боится холодов...
это время - кем-то спето... на обочинах дорог...
расплескалось... растерялось... растревожило... ушло...
утопило... страсти пьяно... в красках палеха... прошло...

Васильковые поляны... стлали мёд пахучих трав...
медью золота багряного... проливая жуткий нрав...
отдаваясь... чувству рьяному... на растрепанных ветвях...
вздохом холода повеяло... посреди седых дубрав...

В сладострастьи счастья ночи... и в надеждах на успех...
стали блеклыми туманами... пеленой прикрыв свой грех...
ночь... в томленьи возбуждалась... уступила... свету звёзд...
лучик солнца... пробуждаясь... ослепил... источник грёз...

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Stream of dreams...

In handful of light... the summer wanders... not afraid of early colds...
this time... was sang by anybody... at the edge... of feature roads...
has splashed... has become puzzled... has disturbed... has come...
has drowned... all passions is drunk... and in straw-coloured... has gone...

The meadows of cornflowers ... has laid the honey smell of grassses...
by copper of the crimson gold ... was spilling of its manners the horror ...
was given back... in annoying feelings.. in the untidy birches' branches...
has breathed the sigh of cold ... in the middle... of grey-dead oak wood...

In the sweet passion of happy night... and in the hopes for success...
has become by faded fogs... its own sin has covered by a silk cloth...
the night...  in languor has raised up... has conceded... to light of stars...
the beam of Sun... has woken up... has blinded...  the stream of dreams...