Birch Grove

Not idols of glory and power,
Not Caesar's magnificent palace -
Let me dream of a white grove
And with her is a blue farm.
That grove has long been gone,
That farm is forgotten forever.
But so much blissful light
Memory will give me again!
Our village stood
Just a mile away from them.
And this whole grove was shining
Opposite my windows.
Shone with multifaceted foliage,
Shone with birch trunks.
And I am this light incomparable
I carried it through the years.
From a dissolute and wild life
More than once he healed me
And that childish strawberry,
And fanned them with greenery.
Until now I dream about the road
Under the shade of birch heads.
And the breeze of the Lord God
More dear to me than all glories.
Hello, ditch -
The threshold of the most holy temple!
And suddenly among the bushes, like an outpost,
The farm weather vane sounded.
And I dream of white buckwheat
A garden playing with bees
And that blue porch
And that blue palisade.
And the gentle light of the new moon
Until now it flows into me -
And you, the farm singer,
My beautiful aunt! ..
Begone, evil tempter,
And take away all your stench!
Since the Redeemer does not sleep,
Living with us in Russia.
Years of hard times will fly by
Ash and smoke will scatter
And again we will go out like children,
To their birch groves.
And the road will run again
Into that white shining temple.
And the breeze of the Lord God
Will rush over all the clovers ...
Not idols of glory and power,
Not Caesar's magnificent palace -
Let me dream of a white grove
And with her is a blue farm.

Nikolay Tryapkin