Gray-Eyed Prince

The birches and the lindens – in hair have fire. On the road is noise – The white horse runs. Autumn, as a sorrow, has spread everywhere. Where, from whom do you hasten, my Prince with the gray eyes? Night has lowered its black velvet downwards, Month ate stars – And has bitten own language. Hi, Prince! Stop your horse, please, And take me with you! We shall rush off very far And we shall sing songs of joy instead of our grief. We shall rush off together with a wind, And our eyes will be laughing again!.. But already, Morning came back, and my Prince is not near me any more Only again, there is Admiralty, The magnificent Hermitage near Neva, the yellow leaves on the water and shout of machines and trams in autumn St. Petersburg.