On the way to the chamber's spring
Migratory breeze fluttered,
Golden voice Prozvenel.
She stood on the porch,
Searched door ring
And she did not dare raise a person.
And she went into the bluish distance,
Where smoked spring hoist,
Where he was spinning over the forest sadness.
There - in the far circle of birch -
Old man bent birch arc
And I take it in the meadow.
Shouted and jumped on a stump:
- You, beauty, true - to me!
Stoskovalas in his silence!
For gnarled fingers took,
C. Beard intertwined zelenoy
And with fog forest rose.
So they yearn for one.
So they fly in the evening,
So the spring was married with a witch.
24 April 1905
