Over the wooded banks,In the hour of evening silence,Noise and songs under the tents,And the lights are spread out.
Hello, happy tribe!I recognize your bonfires;I myself at a different timeHe escorted these tents.
Tomorrow with the first raysYour will disappear.You will leave - but for youDo not go your poet.
He's a wandering placeAnd the leprosy of antiquityI forgot about rural blissAnd home silence.