Sergei Yesenin

Wind, Wind, O Snowy Wind

Wind, wind, o snowy wind, My bygone life I see again. I'd like to be a boy as blond And fair as the flowers at the field's rim. From myself and all this life I'd like To die while a sheep herder's horn blows. In my ears the ringing of cowbells sticks Drifting through the windy snow. It's good to lose one's fog of troubles As he drowns his anguish in a blizzard. I used to like, where the road is level, To stand on one leg like a tree. Where horses stood snoring I used To like to embrace the nearby bushes. The sky's spilled pail and the moon's sharp claws Would cheer me up of any sadness.

Comment Section just now

Feel free to be first to leave comment.

8/2200 - 0