To Natasha

The crimson summer now grows pale; Clear, bright days now soar away; Hazy mist spreads through the vale, As the sleeping night turns gray; The barren cornfields lose their gold; The lively stream has now turned cold; The curly woods are gray and stark, And the heavens have grown dark. Where are you, my light, Natasha? No one's seen you, — I lament. Don't you want to share the passion Of this moment with a friend? You have not yet met with me By the pond, or by our tree, Though the season has turned late, We have not yet had a date. Winter’s cold will soon arrive Fields will freeze with frost, so bitter. In the smoky shack, a light, Soon enough, will shine and glitter. I won't see my love, — I'll rage Like a finch, inside a cage, And at home, depressed and dazed, I’ll recall Natasha's grace. Translated by Andrey Kneller