The garth of ours

Поэтический перевод произведения «Наш сад!»,
автор исходного произведения на русском языке – Владислав Мучкин

Wet fog enwrapped the garden with a shawl,
And diamonds of rain are on the boughs,
Pine-scented waves coniferously crawl,
And cedars stand on toes along the house.

The bough of birch is naked as of yet,
It’s shaking lightly, buds are scarcely found,
Thick grassplot’s pie-like layer, you may bet,
Is covered with the mole’s creepy mound.

It’s quiet. Only drops with their drip-drops,
Make no appeal as to one’s mind possession,
And getting ready to shake off the fogs
Is garth of ours, to shoot with blooms and freshen.

We’re seated at the staircase and embrace,
In wait for hedgehogs, birds, acquainted snail,
Our garden’s stiffened, smiling on its face,
It sets ajar the gate to vernal tale.

We look at this well-tended quietude,
Omit the unexpected right anear,
When bumble-bee as hothead will intrude,
And make all outdoors a hell’s uprear.