Есенин, Отговорила роща... / Esenin, Golden Grove (subs by V. Chetin)

A golden grove has ceased at last its chatter In a merry accent of its birches’ tongue. Afar, a flight of cranes, dejected, flutter, No more lamenting over anyone. Who to lament for? In this world, we’re strangers: Go by, come in and leave the house anon. The gone are summoned up by but a hemp-close And a harvest moon above a bluish pond. I’m all alone amid a barren flatland. A gust of wind is carrying cranes away. It is my joyful youth that I’m intent on, But nothing in the gone do I bewail.