The crimson light of dawn is woven in the lake.
In the woods, the grouses are crying out, awake.
An oriole weeps loud, hidden in the tree.
Only, I’m not crying – filled with ecstasy.
You will surely meet me, later on today,
We will sit together on fresh stacks of hay.
Like a bloom, I’ll rumple you, kiss you all night long,
For a man so fuddled, there’s no right or wrong.
You’ll throw off your veil, drunk in my embrace,
Hidden in the bushes till the morning rays.
Let the grouses cry, in the woods, alone,
There is joyful sadness in the crimson dawn.
By Sergey Esenin
Translation by Andrey Kneller