Sergei Yesenin


Silently sleeps the river. The dark pines hold their peace. The nightingale does not sing, Or the corncrake screech. Night. Silence enfolds. Only the brook murmurs, And the brilliant moon turns Everything to silver. Silver the river, And the rivulets. Silver the grass Of the fertile steppes. Night. Silence enfolds. All sleeps in Nature And the brilliant moon Turns everything to silver.

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