I"m
tired of living in my land
With
boring fields and buckwheat fragrant,
I"ll
leave my home for ever, and
Begin the
life of thief and vagrant.
I"ll
walk through silver curls of life
In search of
miserable dwelling.
My
dearest friend will whet his knife
On me. The
reason? There"s no telling.
The winding
yellow road will go
Across the
sunlit field of flowers,
The girl
whose name I cherish so
Will turn me
out of her house.
I will
return back home to live
and see the
others feeling happy,
I"ll
hang myself upon my sleeve,
On a green
evening it will happen.
The
silky willows by the fence
Will bend
their tops low down, gently,
To
dogs" barking, by my friends,
Unwashed, I
will be buried plainly.
The moon
will float up in the sky
Dropping the
oars into the water...
As ever,
Russia will get by
And dance
and weep in every quarter.
1915
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