Пусть рассвет глядит нам в очи,
Let the nightingale resound,
Let us feel the first light’s gaze,
Let me wrap my arm, stretched out,
In the gloom, around your waist.
The canoe will drift by, lazy,
Past the swaying reeds, eclipsed,
You will fall to me, embracing,
Burning passion - on your lips.
Sing for me, my love, with feeling,
As your melody grows strong,
It's more charming, more appealing
Than the nightingale’s song!...
May 1898 (March 3, 1921)