Above the wooded Brega,
In the hour of the evening silence,
Noise and songs under tents,
And the lights spread out.

Hello, happy tribe!
I find out your fires;
I'd have at any other time
I accompanied these tents.

Tomorrow the first light
Your away a free trail,
You go - but for you
Do not go too your poet.

On brodâŝie nocleg
And leprosy antiquity
Forgotten rural bliss
And the home of silence.

Rate it:
( No ratings yet )
Share with friends:
Alexander Pushkin
Leave a Reply