Stuffy in the smithy gloomy,
And heavy unbearable heat,
And vizga and noise
The head should burn.
By bending anvil,
Waving hands of a blacksmith,
Network spilling red,
Twisted sparks from a person.
Look brave and harsh
Shine rainbow lights,
Like a wave of eagle, ready
Carry over the distance of the seas ...
and pour it, blacksmith, strike twice,
Let the face of sweat streaming.
Light the fire of the heart,
Away from grief and misery!
Zakayev his impulses,
Turn impulses in steel
And fly dream playful
You're in the distance beyond the clouds.
yonder, the black cloud,
Beyond the threshold of the gloomy days,
sun shine flies mighty
Over the plains of fields.
Drowning pastures and cornfields
In the blue light of the day,
And over arable land happily
ripen green fields.
Suspension of the sun with a bang,
Zagora in its rays.
Away from timidity hateful,
Throw rather shameful fear.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


( 2 assessment, average 5 from 5 )
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Sergey Yesenin
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