And the nightingale dawns have passed.

All was new to me then, and emotions

Filled my heart to the brim, so good.

Whereas now every word, kind and cautious,

Tastes as bad as a bitter fruit.

The familiar expanses of valleys

Aren"t as nice as they were before.

Ditches, slopes, stumps and all sorts of gullies

Have disheartened my land evermore.

All is wretched, decrepit and drear,

Pond of grey is so hard on the eye...

Yet to me all is near and dear,

Sorry vision that makes me cry.

There"s a little ramshackle house,

I can hear the bleat of a sheep,

And a horse put out to browse

Waves its tail by the pond, so deep.

This is Motherland, homeland of ours,

And it makes us sad in a way,

Here we cry, along with the showers,

In the hope for a cheerful day.

Thus my grief can"t be spilt by the ringing

Happy laugh of the bygone last.

Lime-tree blossom is fading and dimming,

And the nightingale dawns have passed.

1924 Sergey Yesenin