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«Неизвестный Гений»
Esenin
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I was lost in the capital’s clamor,
In the gilded and riotous night,
But my soul, with its winter-pure glamor,
Kept Ryazan’s rustic groves in my sight.
I would sing with a wild, ringing passion,
Tearing open my shirt to the core.
My whole life was a gold-erring fashion,
Sweetest prison that I could adore.
Chorus:
Oh, accordion, whistle blindly,
Tear my soul with your sorrow and might!
I played hide-and-seek with life unkindly
And collapsed under starlight so bright.
Was it grace from above, or an angel,
Or a game that was played by the Lord?
Mad acclaim is my only remaining,
And a bed where my spirit is stored.
I was changing the towns and the muses,
In the foreign-land frenzy I burned,
But my eyes, which the sorrow bruises,
To Ryazan’s fiery memories turned.
Drinking bitter, I wept and resented,
Stray to cats and the poor on the road,
To my death I too early consented,
Vanished just like the apple-smoke flowed.
Chorus:
Oh, accordion, whistle blindly,
Tear my soul with your sorrow and might!
I played hide-and-seek with life unkindly
And collapsed under starlight so bright.
Was it grace from above, or an angel,
Or a game that was played by the Lord?
Mad acclaim is my only remaining,
And a bed where my spirit is stored.
I will smile at the last heavy trial,
Step across the blue threshold ahead.
Do not judge me, birch trees, with denial,
For no other song could have been said.
In the gilded and riotous night,
But my soul, with its winter-pure glamor,
Kept Ryazan’s rustic groves in my sight.
I would sing with a wild, ringing passion,
Tearing open my shirt to the core.
My whole life was a gold-erring fashion,
Sweetest prison that I could adore.
Chorus:
Oh, accordion, whistle blindly,
Tear my soul with your sorrow and might!
I played hide-and-seek with life unkindly
And collapsed under starlight so bright.
Was it grace from above, or an angel,
Or a game that was played by the Lord?
Mad acclaim is my only remaining,
And a bed where my spirit is stored.
I was changing the towns and the muses,
In the foreign-land frenzy I burned,
But my eyes, which the sorrow bruises,
To Ryazan’s fiery memories turned.
Drinking bitter, I wept and resented,
Stray to cats and the poor on the road,
To my death I too early consented,
Vanished just like the apple-smoke flowed.
Chorus:
Oh, accordion, whistle blindly,
Tear my soul with your sorrow and might!
I played hide-and-seek with life unkindly
And collapsed under starlight so bright.
Was it grace from above, or an angel,
Or a game that was played by the Lord?
Mad acclaim is my only remaining,
And a bed where my spirit is stored.
I will smile at the last heavy trial,
Step across the blue threshold ahead.
Do not judge me, birch trees, with denial,
For no other song could have been said.
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