Ñî âðåìåíåì áóäåò ëåòî –
Ñ òðîñòî÷êàìè ãîñïîäà,
Äàìû ñ ïåñòðûìè çîíòèêàìè,
È ñ êóêëàìè ìåëêîòà –
Ðàñöâåòÿò ïàðîññêèé áëåäíûé
Ïåéçàæ â öâåòèñòûé áóêåò –
Îòêóäà ÷òî è âîçüìåòñÿ,
 äîëèíå, ãäå êðàñîê íåò –
Ïîâèñíóò ãðîçäüÿ ñèðåíè,
Âñ¸ òå æå çà ãîäîì ãîä –
Ï÷åëà ïðèïîìíèò ìåëîäèþ
È òóò æå åå ñïîåò –
 ñâîé ñðîê çààëåþò ðîçû –
È àñòðû ïîêðîþò õîëì,
Îäåòû ïî ñòàðîé ìîäå –
×åðåä ãîðå÷àâêàì ïîòîì.
 êîíöå ëåòî ñïðÿ÷åò ÷óäî,
Êàê æåíùèíà ïëàòüå, â ëàðü –
Ðàç òàèíñòâî ñîâåðøèëîñü,
Óæå íå íóæåí ñòèõàðü.
It will be Summer — eventually.
Ladies — with parasols —
Sauntering Gentlemen — with Canes —
And little Girls — with Dolls —
Will tint the pallid landscape —
As 'twere a bright Bouquet —
Thro' drifted deep, in Parian —
The Village lies — today —
The Lilacs — bending many a year —
Will sway with purple load —
The Bees — will not despise the tune —
Their Forefathers — have hummed —
The Wild Rose — redden in the Bog —
The Aster — on the Hill
Her everlasting fashion — set —
And Covenant Gentians — frill —
Till Summer folds her miracle —
As Women — do — their Gown —
Of Priests — adjust the Symbols —
When Sacrament — is done —