May be, I have not long
In exile, peaceful stay,
Sigh of sweet old days
And rural muse in silence
Soul indulge in carefree.
But in that, at the edge of a strange
I'll be the thought invariable
Wander around Trigorskoe,
In the meadows, by the river, over Holm,
In the garden under the shade of limes home.
When darkened clear day,
One of the depth of the grave
So sometimes in the shadow of home
Flies yearning shadow
On the lovely quit touching eyes.
