By Samuil Marshak
How many times I tried to quicken Time,
That forward carried me so fast,
And to whip it,to scare it, to speed up,
To hear its constant steps in common life.
But today I ride in a slow manner,
And today I hear every stride,
As the oak-tree takes part in conversation
And the stream flows to deep ravine.
Life became not slower, but quieter,
That's because of the evening forest's silent.
And I hear the farewell noise of boughs -
Without you - alone - for both of us.