In solid grass you will perish straight,
To a still house, you come mute …
She’ll embrace you, enmesh with a plait
Saying, - Welcome, knight.
- Here – a bush of the roses white.
- Here - the ivies lately weaved.
- Where you've been? What news brought?
- Who loves us, who loves not?
And forget you that days are sped,
And forgive those proud and mean.
And see - the clouds a-rise ahead,
And listen - to the songs of a distant land …
Weeps the heart over foreign bounds,
Yearns for a battle – lures and calls…
Only says she: Farewell. Come back.
And again the bell in the grass tolls…
* * *
В густой траве пропадешь с головой
vip/10/03/2016