Текст песни Твардовский - В тот день, когда окончилась война

On the day when the war ended
And all the trunks burned at the expense of salute,
At that time, there was one
A special moment for our souls.

At the end of the road, in the far side,
Under the thunder of firing we said goodbye for the first time
With all that died in the war,
As with the dead, the living are forgiven.

Until then, in the depth of the soul
We did not say goodbye so irrevocably.
We were with them as if on a level,
And only the accounting sheet shared us.

We went along with the road of war
In a single brotherhood of the soldier until the deadline,
Harsh glory of their illuminated,
Their fate is always nearby.

And only here, in a special moment,
Filled with greatness and sorrow,
We separated forever from them:
We were separated from them by volleys.

Inspired by us the trunks of roaring steel,
That we no longer have to count in losses.
And, hiding in a haze, he goes away,
Filled with comrades shore.

And, sensing there through the thickness of days and years,
As we are being blown away by these volleys of waves,
They do not dare to wave after a hand,
Do not dare to utter a word. They are speechless.

So, my fate is embarrassed,
We said goodbye to friends on holiday.
And with those on the last day of the war
Still in the ranks stood with us;

And with those that her great way
They were only half way through;
And with those whose graves somewhere
Even at the Volga flowed clay;

And with those that are under Moscow itself
In the deep snow took their beds,
In its suburbs on the front line
In the winter of the forty-first;
and with those,

That, dying, could not even
Count on the sanctity of their peace
The last, under the mound of earth,
Stuffed with an unfamiliar hand.

With all - even if their lot is not equal, -
Who before his death went to the generals,
And who did not manage to get into the sergeants -
This was the time for him to let the fellow go.

With all who have departed from us,
Participating in one great canopy
Banners bent, as ordered by the order -
With all, to one with all.

We have said goodbye.
And the rumble of the firing ceased,
And time passed. And from that time on them
Birches, willows, maples and oaks
For the first time my foliage was replaced.

But again and again there will be foliage,
And our children will grow up and grandchildren,
And the thunder of firing at any celebration
Remind us of that great separation.

And not because we keep the agreement,
That memory is supposed to be such,
And not for that, no, not for that one,
That the winds of wars are not making a noise.

And to us lessons of courage are given
In the immortality of those who have become a handful of dust.
No, even if the victims of that war
The last in this world were, -

Could we, if we had left them in the distance,
To live without them in their own happiness,
Their eyes do not see their land
And hearing them not to hear the world in part?

And, life having passed on the fallen track,
In the end, at the mortal threshold,
In yourself, do not guess yourself
Their approval or their reproach!

Well, are we grass? Well, and they are grass?
No. Do not keep us in touch with each other.
The power is not dead, but the power of that kinship,
That even death has become incompetent.

To you, fallen in that battle of the world
For our happiness on the ground harsh,
To you, on a par with the living, his voice
I translate in each song a new one.

You do not hear them and do not read.
Line in a row they are mute.
But you are mine, you were with us here,
You heard me and knew the name.

In a mute land, in the deaf peace of the earth,
Whence there are no who came from reconnaissance,
You took part of me with you
From the little army newspaper sheet.

I'm yours, friends, and I owe you,
As with the living, I also owe you.
And if I, by weakness, lie,
I will enter the trace that I was ordered,

I will say the words that there is no faith in them,
That, not having time to give out them everywhere,
Still not knowing the response of the living -
I will hear your reproof.

Vessels of the living - no less than the fallen court.
And let in the shower until the days of my death
Lives, thunderous ceremony salute
Victory and great farewell.

(Tvardovsky)