Freak me out again and again -
This is your secret will,
Joy is waiting for the hidden words,
And it is the cloth of gold ready,
To my soul I laughed.
Smiling through her tears fall,
In heaven flies plea,
And for lace thin birch
Golden trumpet sang.
So concerned about transparent sound,
If your sweet voice rings,
But you are silent, Raise your hands,
Strive hands in the zenith.
And rounded hands tremble,
With white shoulders cascade down stream,
For you in dances raspleschut
Osennitsy clothes.
Shaded by soaring of moisture,
Let down you hair strands.
Runaround your the ravine
Gold ring evolved.
Fascinated by the music of moisture,
I can not not sing, not dance,
And could not meadows and ravines
Under the soles of your not burn.
With us, Us - winged Mladost,
We were given the fate of Air…
And where it comes to us Joy,
And where floats Silence?
The silence of the dying grain -
It is time to light the world:
Sleep, cherished by signs,
That will be held today, like yesterday,
What is the flight time and desire -
Only bursts girlish hands -
On the ground, on a green glade,
Inseparable and joyous circle.
And the sun will not bezburnoe
Break the silence and anger,
And forest grass will not forget,
I will never forget the spring.
And the snowflakes on the slopes of the ravine
Zametut, zarovnyayut end,
There, where he commanded the moisture,
There, where dance, where your will.
1 October 1905
