Prayers - Yesenin

BUT. Mariengof


trumpet, perdition is blowing the horn!
How to be, what about now we
On izmyzgannyh thighs roads?
You, fans singing fleas,
L do not want to suck gelding?

Full of gentleness mordisch celebrates,
Ljubo eh, l do not like it, know Berry.
Good, when twilight teasing
And pour you into the thick ass
Bloodied broom dawn.

Soon Freeze lime whitewashed
The village and the meadows.
Anywhere you will not escape from death,
Can not get away from the enemy.

Here he is, So he with an iron belly,
Pulls his fingers to the throats of the plains,
Leads ear old mill,
Navostryv mukomolnыy smell.
And the Silent yard bull,
That your whole brain on heifers shed,
Wiping the fence about language,
Sensed trouble on the field.


Brother, not whether behind the village
So crying pitifully harmonica:
Tal la la, valves li sidebar
Hanging over the white windowsill.
And yellow wind osennitsy
Not because l, yidian ryabyu tronuv,
As if a horse groomer,
The stripping leaves from the maple trees.
Goes, he is, terrible Gazette,
Fifth cumbersome thicket ache.
Still yearning lyrics
Under the frog peep in the straw.
ABOUT, electric sunrise,
Belts and pipes deaf grip,
Is setup drevenchatыy life
Shakes steel fever!


Have you seen,
How to run the steppes,
In the mists of the lake kroyas,
Iron nostrils snorting,
On the feet of iron train?

And after him
On a large grass,
As the celebration of desperate races,
Thin legs throwing to the head,
Krasnogrivy foal gallops?

Sweet, sweet, funny fool,
Well, where he, where he is being chased?
Does not he know, that live horses
Steel won the cavalry?
Does not he know, that in fields bessiyannyh
That time will not return his career,
When a pair of beautiful Russian women steppe
I gave for a horse Petcheneg?
A different fate at auction repainted
Our awakened by screeching Reach,
And for tyschi pounds of horse meat and skin
Now buy a locomotive.


Hell would take you, bad guest!
Our song with you not szhivetsya.
Pity, that as a child you did not have to
drown, like a bucket in a well.
Well they stand and stare,
Paint their mouths in tin kisses,–
Only me, as an acolyte, sing
Above their native country "hallelujah".
Because in the September Sklené
On cold and dry loam,
He smashed his head on the fence,
She drenched herself with the blood of rowan berries.
Because it had grown grieved
The strumming Talianki specie.
And smelling straw man
Choked dashing moonshine.

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Boris Pasternak
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