By Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov
When in the fields the yellow ears're waving,
When forest rustles in the sound of fresh wind,
The crimson plum hides under the leaf's shadow
In garden beautiful, so sweet and green;
When silver lily of the valley under bush
In ruddy morning or in golden evening
Is nodding to me with a kind such look,
All over by fragrant dew been sprinkled;
When a cold spring is playing in a ravine,
And, merging my thought in some hazy dream,
It is murmuring to me one mystic saga
About the pieceful land, where he lives -
Then in my soul all the troubles go over,
Then wrinkles on my brows are smoothed all,
And I can reach the truly happiness on my earth,
And highly in the skies I see the God...