Текст песни Мария Бунтарская - В горах - Иван Бунин

Poetry is dark, in words inexpressible:
How this wild ramp excited me.
Empty siliceous dol, sheep herd corral,
Shepherd's bonfire and the bitter smell of smoke!

Anxious strange and joy languidly
My heart says: “Come back, come back!” -
The smoke smelled like a sweet scent
And with envy, with longing, I pass by.

Poetry is not that, not at all that light
Calling poetry. She is in my inheritance.
The richer I am to them, the more I am a poet.

I tell myself, smelling a dark trace
What my ancestor perceived in ancient childhood:
- There are no different souls in the world and there is no time in it!