Текст песни Сергей Есенин - Я последний поэт деревни

I am the last poet of the village,
Modest in songs boardwalk bridge.
For farewell stand impoverish
Kadyaschih leafy birches.

Golden flame will burn down
Of bodily wax candle,
And the moon clock wooden
Prohripyat my twelfth hour.

On the trail of blue field
Coming Soon iron guest
Oat grass, dawn spilled,
Gather him a handful of black.

Not alive, strange palm,
These songs when you do not have to live!
Only the ears are-horses
On the old host to grieve.

The wind will suck their neighing,
Requiem coping dance.
Soon, soon the clock wooden
Prohripyat my twelfth hour!
& Lt; 1920 & gt;