Sergei Yesenin

The Rowan Trees Grew Red

The rowan trees grew red, The water turned bright blue. The sullen moon's horse rode With its reins falling loose. From the gloom a blue swan, Out of the grove, swims. With miraculous force he's borne Up on his great wings. This is your land, and mine, Ageless plowman who yowls, Drooping your head down Toward the Volga beneath the willows. You got up refreshed at dawn And called upon your Savior, Accompanied by the song of the swan, Caressed by a rainbow of color. You give thanks as sun sinks low To the redeemer of every sin. The smell of oncoming snow Spreads on the fresh wind. But my invisible trembling Helps the chill go away... I speak from the wet storm impending, I, Esenin, Sergei.

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