Пускай ты выпита другим.. С. Есенин, на английском

You're relished by another, though,
Still, what’s left for me,
What is  left for me -
Is of your hair vitreous smoke
And of your eyes autumn fatigue.

Oh, the age of autumn! To me
It's dearer than youth and summer.
You’ve started doubly to appeal
To the imagination of the bard.

I never tell lies with my heart,
And so, to the voice of arrogance,
With rowdiness I am to part-
Courageously can I response.

It’ s time to separate with pluck,
So mischievous and defiant.
My heart by now has got drunk
With the blood sobering moonshine.

September has tapped on my window
With the willow’s crimson branch
In order that I would be prepared
To greet its moderate approach.

Now I reconcile with lots of things,
Not being forced, not feeling losses.
Rus seems quite different to me,
And different are cemeteries and lodges.

My glance around is transparent,
And I see here, there, somewhere
That you alone, my sister and friend
Could be the poet's fellow-traveller.

And just for you could I perform,
While raised in steadiness,
The songs of twilight over roads
And leaving me, my rowdiness.