Likbez

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 1 river is spread out. It flows, is sad lazily and washes the shores. Above the meager clay of the yellow cliff in the steppe, stacks are sad. Oh my Rus'! My wife! The pain is clear to us to be painful! Our path - the arrow of the Tatar ancient will pierced our chest. Our path is steppe, our path is in longing for the vast - in your longing, oh, Rus'! And even darkness - night and foreign - I'm not afraid. Let the night. We rush. Illumin the steppe distance. In the steppe smoke, the holy banner and the khan's saber steel shone ... and the eternal battle! We only dream of peace through blood and dust ... Flies, the steppe mare flies and the kovil flies ... and there is no end! Milestones flicker, twist ... Stop! They go, frightened clouds, sunset in the blood! Sunset in the blood! Blood flow from the heart! Cry, heart, cry ... There is no rest! The steppe mare rushes to jump! On June 7, 1908, we, ourselves, ourselves, over the steppe at midnight, we began to return, not to look back. They shouted for the unexpected swans, and again, they scream again ... On the way - a combustible white stone. Behind the river - a filthy horde. A bright banner over our regiments will never give up again. And, leaning his head to the ground, a friend tells me: "Trades your sword, so that it is not without reason to fight with the Tatars, to lie down for the dead!" I am not the first warrior, not the last, the homeland will be sick for a long time. Remember for the early lunchtime Mila friend, Bright wife! June 8, 1908 3 On the night, when Mamai lay down with the Orda of the steppe and bridges, you and I were in the dark field- did you know? In front of the Don Dark and sinister, in the middle of the night fields, I heard your voice with my heart prophetic in the cries of swans. From midnight, a princely army was offered with a cloud, and in the distance, in the distance, the mother fought, the mother voted. And, the devil, the night birds were cut in the distance. And over Russia the quiet lights of the prince were guarded. Orli Kleokot over the Tatar village threatened with trouble, and Nepryavva got out of the fog that Princess Fatu. And with a fog over the sleeping Nepravaya, you went right at me, in the clothes the light of the flowing, without frightening the horse. In silver, the waves flashed to a friend on a steel sword, refreshed a dusty chain mail on my shoulder. And when, the next morning, the horde moved with a cloud of black, there was a miraculous bright light in the shield forever. June 14, 1908 4, again with a century of longing, bent to the earth of the hobby. Again, behind the foggy river, you click me from afar ... Spicked, the herds disappeared, the wild passions are untied under the yoke of the flawed moon. And I am longing with a century, like a wolf under the flawed moon, I don’t know what to do with me, where I can fly after you! I listen to the rods of Sich and the Tatars trumpet cries, I see a wide and quiet fire over Russia. Enraged by a longing mighty, I grow up on a white horse ... Free clouds are found in a hammered night tension. Bright thoughts in my torned heart rise, and bright thoughts burned with dark fire fall ... "Be, my marvelous marvel! To be bright teach me!" The horse mane is reduced ... Swords are appealing behind the wind ... July 31, 1908 5 and the hazy troubles of the irresistible, the coming day covered. Vl. Soloviev again rose over the Kulikov field and was hollowed up, and, as if a harsh cloud, the coming day was frightened. Behind the silence of an unflattering, behind a spilling hare is not heard by the thunder of the battle of a wonderful one, the warner of the fighting is not visible. But I recognize you, the beginning of high and rebellious days! Over the enemy of the village, as it happened, and the splash and the pipes of swans. The heart cannot live with peace, not without reason the clouds gathered. The armor is heavy, as before the battle. Now your hour has come.- prayed! December 23, 1908