It Can't Be Dispelled, Can This Sorrow
It can't be dispelled, can this sorrow, By the laughter of years long withdrawn. All gone is my white linden blossom, Sung - the song of the nightingale dawn. Then all things were new to me, feelings Were welling up, crowding my heart. But now tender phrases even From my lips fall bitter and tart. Familiar views and expanses By moonlight now seem not so fine. Ravines ... tree-stumps ... bare slopes have saddened These Russian horizons of mine. Life that's sickening, famished and lowly, Grey watery wastes meet the eye. All this is familiar and close to me, That's why I so readily cry. A tumbledown cottage needs squaring, A sheep bleats, a gaunt horse beyond Stands waving a scraggy tail, staring At a windswept uncomforting pond. All this is what we call the homeland, Because of all this we meanwhile In rainy days cry and drink vodka While waiting for heaven to smile. That's why you'll not banish this sorrow With the laughter of days long withdrawn. All gone is my white linden blossom, Sung - the song of the nightingale dawn.