I prefer the gorgeous freedom,
And I fly to lands of grace,
Where in wide and clear
All is good, as dreams, and blest.
Here they rice: the clover clear,
And corn-flower's gentle lace,
And the rustle is always here:"Ears are leaning… Take your ways!"In this immense sea of fair,
Only one of blades reclines.
You don't see in misty air,
I'd seen it!
It will be mine!
Translated by Yevgeny Bonver,
December,
Edited by Dmitry Karshtedt,
February, 2001
