By Sergei Yesenin
Moon's above my window. Wind is under window.
A poplar-tree, all naked, is glaring in silver.
The remote weep of 'ccordeon, distant voice alone -
Close to my heart so, such a distant though.
Song is crying, laughing, jaunty in its manner.
Where is my lime-tree, aged at least a century?
I was also eager there in the past times
To wake up in morning with accordeon widened.
But today my lovely pays me no attention,
So I'm laughing, crying under songs, but alien.
August 1925
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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