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Goy you, Rus, My dear,
Hut - in robes image ...
Do not see the end, and edge -
Only blue eyes sucks.

As Zakhozhiy pilgrim,
I see your fields.
And in nizenʹkih okolic
Zvonno pine poplar.

It smells of apples and honey
In tserki your krotkiy Spas.
And abuzz over Korogod
In the meadows merry dance.

Escape of mint stitch
On the expanse of green Lech,
to meet me, as earrings,
Bell girlish laughter.

If you yell holy army:
"Kin you Russ, Live in Paradise!»
I will tell: "No child paradise,
Give my family ".

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