Oh, Do Not Wake Her Up With the Dawn By Afanasy Fet

Oh, do not wake her up with the dawn, With the dawn she is sleeping so sweet, Morning's breathing on her breast alone, It is playing on cheeks with the heat. And her pillow is tender and hot, And her tiresome dream is hot too, Tresses blacken on shoulders, oh, Lord, They surround like some ribbons her view. Yesterday, when the evening was long, very long, by the window she sat, She was looking at clouds to the dawn, at the moon's game and she was upset. And the brighter the moon played in night, And the louder the Nightingale sang, She turned paler of this morbid light, Heart was beating so hard with the pang. That's why morning is holding her breast, It is playing on cheeks with the heat, Do not wake up her now, let her rest, with the dawn she is sleeping so sweet. P.S. This is my translation of poem by Afanasy Fet