I Have Left My Endeared Home
I have left my endeared home, Getting out of my Russia of blue. Little grove by the pond will warm My old mother's sorrow anew. Like a golden croaker the moon Lies prostrate on the water tranquil. Grizzly hair, like apple-tree bloom, In my father's beard will spill. I will not come back readily, and Singing blizzard will ring on and on. Maples guard my blue Russian land, Standing there, one-legged, all alone. And I know that it's joyous for those Who've been kissing the rain of the leaves. For the maple and I, we both Are alike, in the head, that is.