Текст песни Борис Пастернак. Доктор Живаго - Белая ночь

I have a long time imagining,
House on the Side of St. Petersburg.
The daughter of a steppe poor modest landowner,
You are on courses, you come from Kursk.

You're sweet, you have admirers.
This white night, we both,
Assuming on your windowsill,
We look down from your skyscraper.

Lanterns, like butterflies,
Morning touched the first trembling.
What I tell you quietly,
So the sleeping are like!

We are covered by the same self
An infamous fidelity to secrecy,
As spreading a panorama
St. Petersburg beyond the Neva is boundless.

There in the distance, in the dense tracts,
This night the spring white,
Nightingales in splendor rumbling
They announce forest boundaries.

The frenzied click rolls.
The voice of the little bird of the ice
Awakening and confusion awakens
In the depths of the enchanted thicket.

In those places barefooted wanderer
Sneaking along the fence,
And behind her, from the window sill
The trace of an overheard conversation.

In the echoes of the conversation heard,
In the gardens fenced in by the banks,
Branches of apple and cherry
Dress up in color whitish.

And the trees, like ghosts of white,
They pour out the crowd on the road,
Exactly signs farewell making
A white night that has seen so much.