Yesenin S. The golden groves now fallen quiet...

The golden grove’s now fallen quiet
Sans birchen, merry voice that it bore,
And as the cranes fly sadly by it,
For no one grieve they no more.

For whom should we? All souls simply wander:
We pass, get in, yet soon are vagabond;
The hemp-field dreams of those who are yonder,
With waxing moon above the tranquil pond.

As I’m standing mid an empty ground,
The cranes far away being cast,
The thoughts of my merry youth abound,
But I don’t grieve for things that passed;

For those years that were in vain blown,
The blooming lilac in my heart.
In my garden, a quick-beam is aglow,
Yet there’s no warmth it can impart;

On its red sprays no scorch is spreading,
The grass beneath doesn’t yellow at all.
When it’s the leaves a tree is softly shedding,
Then are sad words what I’m letting fall;

And should the time, sweeping off the riot,
Scoop up them all as useless junk galore…
Pass this… The golden grove’s fallen quiet
With no lovely voice from before.

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«Отговорила роща золотая…», 1924