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Sergey Esenin

Rusi

You have one lash wreath,

Flowers stew gray stitch.

About Russia, the late corner,

I love you, and I believe you.

I look in the expanse of your fields,

You are all far and near.

Akin to my whistling cranes

And the path is not alien to the slimy

The marsh font is blooming,

Kuga is calling for vespers long

And the bushes ring drops

Dew cold and healing.

And though you mist is driving away.