Esenin

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.