Текст песни Есенин С.А. - Русь

The village sank in bumps,
          They blocked the forest huts.
          Only visible, on bumps and hollows,
          How the sky turns blue.

          Many long, winter wails howl in the twilight,
          Wolves are formidable from skinny fields.
          In the yards in the burning slime
          Snoring horses over snoring.

          Like owl eyes, behind the branches
          Look in the shawls of the snowstorm lights.
          And they stand behind the oak-wood grids,
          Like a forest devil, hemp.

          The unclean power frightened us,
          Whatever hole - everywhere sorcerers.
          In the evil frost in the twilight hazy
          Birches hang bangles.

          

          But I love you, my country is meek!
          And for what - I can not solve it.
          I'm glad your joy is short
          With a loud song in the spring in the meadow.

          I love above the leased camp
          Listen to the evening gum of mosquitoes.
          And how the guys are gargling with a talion,
          The girls will go dancing at the fires.

          Light up, like black currants,
          Coals-eyes in the horseshoe brow.
          Oh you, my Russia, my dear homeland,
          Sweet rest in silk kupyrei.

          

          Ponakarkali black ravens:
          Terrible misfortunes are wide.
          Twists the whirlpool of the forest in all directions,
          Shakes foam from the lakes with a shroud.

          The thunder has burst, the cup of the sky is split,
          Clouds ragged reel the forest.
          On pendants made of light gold
          Lamped the heavens.

          We were led by the windows of the house
          The militia go to war.
          Zabygykali women suburban,
          The weeping cut through silence.

          The peace plowmen were gathering
          Without sadness, without complaints and tears,
          They put pyshki on sugar in their bags
          And they shoved on the thick car.

          Through the village to the high village
          Accompanied them wholesale people ...
          That's where, Russ, your good fellows,
          All support in the time of adversity.

          

          The village was tired of a bride -
          Somehow lovely in the far edge?
          Why not be notified by the news, -
          Did they die in a hot battle?

          Scents of incense seemed to be in the grove,
          Bones knocked in the wind.
          And they came to them unexpectedly
          From the far volost piles of news.

          They saved a memo on them for Pahari,
          With then they took everyone through the letter.
          Have picked up here native грамоку,
          Veil sat down the braid.

          Gathered over the Chef Lusheyu
          To ask for your favorite speeches.
          And on their haunches they cried, listening,
          On successes of native strongmen.

          

          Oh, my fields, lovely furrows,
          You are good in your sorrow!
          I love these feeble huts
          With the wait of gray-haired mothers.

          Attack to bapstick bast,
          Peace to you, rake, plait and plow!
          I guess by the eyes of the unintelligent
          In the war, the fate of the groom.

          I reconciled myself with the thoughts of the weak,
          If only I could become a bush by the water.
          I want to believe in the best with women,
          Tender the candle of the evening star.

          I unraveled their thoughts,
          They will not be frightened by the thunder and darkness.
          For the song under the song cherished
          Death and prison will not happen.

          They believed in these scribbles,
          Withdrawable with difficulty,
          And from happiness and joy wept,
          As in a drought over the first rain.

          And behind the thought of separation from my parents
          In the soft grass, under the beads grew,
          They imagined themselves in the distance behind the smoke
          Above the meadows a merry mowing.

          Oh, you, Rus, my homeland is meek,
          Only to you I love the shore.
          I'm glad your joy is short
          With a loud song