It burns, my star, do not fall…

It burns, my star, do not fall.
Drop the cold rays.
After all, for the cemetery fence
Beating heart does not knock.

You shine August and rye
And fills the silence of the fields
Such a tremor rydalistoyu
Neotletevshih cranes.

AND, uplifting head above,
No it for roshtey - for holmom
Again I hear someone's song
About paternal edge and paternal house.

And zoloteyuschaya autumn,
In birch juice ubavlyaya,
For everyone, whom he loved, and tossed,
Foliage is crying on the sand.

I know, know. soon, soon
Neither of my, no one's fault
Under the low fence mourning
Lying just have me.

Gentle flame extinguished,
And my heart will turn to dust.
Friends put the gray stone
With cheerful inscription in verse.

But, funeral sadness heeding,
I for myself would have been so:
He loved his homeland and the earth,
As loves a drunk tavern.

17 August 1925

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Sergey Yesenin
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