Перевод Отговорила роща золотая. С. Есенин

The golden grove has said it all

In a birch language so cheerful,

And the cranes flying by in sorrow,

Have compassion for no one now.


 Well, who  to feel sorry for?


In this world each of us is a pilgrim-

He’ll walk,come in and leave his home anew.

Of all the passed there's hemp-field, dreaming

Over the blue pond with the broad moon.


I'm standing amid the bare plain,alone,

The cranes are carried with the wind,afar.

I'm full of thoughts about youth,so jovial,

Yet,I feel bad about nothing in the past.


I don’t regret playing the years away,

Have no pity  for my soul's lilac blowing.

In the garden the red rowen's burning flame

Is yet unable to give anybody warming.


The rowen brushes won't  burn away,

The grass won't perish from its yellowness.

The way a tree calmly sheds its leaves,

I'm throwing off my words of sadness.


If time scattering the leaves with wind,

Rakes them in one unnecessary heap…

Say thus…

The golden grove said it all

In a language so lovable.