Sergei Yesenin

High Water Has Licked

High water has licked The silt with smoke. The moon has dropped Its yellow reins. Paddling a punt, I bump into banks. Red haystacks by the fence rails Look like churches. With mournful cawing In the silence of marshes The black grouse Is calling for vespers. In blue gloom the grove Shrouds the destitution... Secretly I will pray For your future.

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