Sergei Yesenin

Bloom And Pass Away

I do not regret, and I do not shed tears, all, like haze off apple-trees, must pass. Turning gold, I’m fading, it appears, I will not be young again, alas. Having got to know the touch of coolness I will not feel, as before, so good. And the land of birch trees - oh my goodness! Cannot make me wander barefoot. Vagrant’s spirit! You do not so often stir the fire of my lips these days. Oh my freshness, that begins to soften! Oh my lost emotions, vehement gaze! Presently I do not feel a yearning, oh, my life! Have I been sleeping fast? Well, it feels like early in the morning on a rosy horse I’ve galloped past. We are all to perish, hoping for some favour, golden leaves flow down turning grey. May you be redeemed and blessed for ever, you who came to bloom and pass away…

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