529 (1862)
Ìíå ìåðòâûõ æàëü – ñåãîäíÿ –
×óäåñíåé íåò ïîðû
Äëÿ ïðàçäíè÷íîãî ñáîðà,
×åì ñåíîêîñà äíè –
Ïðîñòîð – çàãàð íà ëèöàõ –
Ïðîñòûå ïëàòüÿ – ñìåõ
È øóòêè â ïåðåðûâàõ –
È êàìíè ñäâèíóò ñ ìåñò –
Îíè æå òàì, â ñòîðîíêå
Îò ïîëåâûõ çàáîò –
Âîçîâ – ïàõó÷èõ êîïåí
È ìåðíûõ ñâèñòîâ êîñ –
Òîñêóþò ëè ïî äîìó –
×òî îò òðóäîâ îíè
Îòëó÷åíû ñåãîäíÿ,
Îò ôåðìåðñêîé ñåìüè –
Êàê çíàòü, íå îäèíîêî ëü
 ìîãèëàõ èì, êîãäà
Èþíü – íàðîä – ïîâîçêè
Ñâåëà â ïîëÿõ ñòðàäà –
9.01.2018 – 21.05.2021
529
I'm sorry for the Dead — Today —
It's such congenial times
Old Neighbors have at fences —
It's time o' year for Hay.
And Broad — Sunburned Acquaintance
Discourse between the Toil —
And laugh, a homely species
That makes the Fences smile —
It seems so straight to lie away
From all of the noise of Fields —
The Busy Carts — the fragrant Cocks —
The Mower's Metre — Steals —
A Trouble lest they're homesick —
Those Farmers — and their Wives —
Set separate from the Farming —
And all the Neighbors' lives —
A Wonder if the Sepulchre
Don't feel a lonesome way —
When Men — and Boys — and Carts — and June,
Go down the Fields to "Hay" —