river raskinulasь. flows, sad lazy
And washes the shore.
Above lean clay yellow cliff
In the steppes sad stack.
ABOUT, Russ mine! my wife! Do hurts
We are a long way clear!
Our way - arrow of ancient Tatar will
Pierced our breast.
Our path - the steppe, our way - in boundless anguish,
In your grief, about Russia!
And even darkness - night and abroad -
I'm not afraid.
Let night. whisk. perfused with bonfires
In steppe holy smoke flash banner
And the saber steel khan…
And the eternal battle! Rest only in our dreams
Through blood and dust…
Flies, letit stepnaya kobılitsa
And crumples feather…
And there is no end! flashed mile, cliff…
go, are frightened clouds,
Sunset in the blood!
Sunset in the blood! Blood flows from the heart!
cry, a heart, cry…
there is no peace! Stepnaya kobılitsa
7 June 1908
we, alone-another, over the steppe at midnight began:
not return, do not look back.
For Nepryadva swans cried,
And again, again they shout…
On the way - a combustible white stone.
Across the river - filthy horde.
Bright banner on our shelves
Not leaped never.
AND, He bowed his head to the ground,
Says my friend: "Acute his sword,
To fight without reason tatarvoyu,
For the sacred cause of the dead go to!»
I - not the first warrior, not last,
How long will the birthplace of sick.
Miscarrying g for impoverished ranneyu
Mila another, light wife!
8 June 1908