Philosophy of Love. V. Speys

the voices of birds, migrants, choir

      Sings. Trees listen naked

      Spring a diverse voices bird.

      Carpets, faded herbs dry

      Spring laid a field and meadows.

      And the sky looks with puddles blue eyes

      On the gray hills of haystacks.

      Clear air with smoky distances

      With an invigorating freshness his drunk.

      And strokes cheeks with gentle palms

      And behind him in the trail beckons me.

      And you go by the hand with the wind,

      Inhaling the delicate scent of Spring.

      And the world seems even more beautiful

      In a fit of a timid fairy tale Spring.

      Spring motifs

      Cheerful rain pours warm

      Runs in a stream, a water call.

      And the cloud, the tambourine beats,

      And him a shadow runs, plays the ground.

      A wreath in the sky with a rainbow blooms,

      Weave ribbon-lightning into braids.

      And the wind sings a May song,

      In the orchestra here, spring melodies.

      Spring, as if the girl is leading her

      On marital dance with thunder.

      The earth gives flowers in dowry,

      And the sky gives the rainbow color.

      Three poplars

      – Three poplars stood by the road

      With a branchy crown, noisy foliage.

      Dressed in green, clothes toga,

      They were the guardians of the village in the spring.

      Mats the sun with the first rays

      Crowns welcoming sunrise.

      And Morning hugged branches-hands

      Notifying people of the day coming.

      But to stand under the power of a hurricane

      Not destined to mighty poplars!

      That, lonely, at the road mound,

      Birch sadly told people.

      I do not understand you

      I do not understand you.

      My love words are empty to you.

      But I have no control over myself,

      And forget the familiar features.

      Forget your familiar eyes.

      Weeping willow – hair.

      And the purity of the diamond,

      Hot drops of your tears.

      Forget the warmth of a caressing hand.

      And the whiteness of a tender smile

      And peach fluff cheeks,

      And curls on the forehead negligent.

      Forget you – forget the Spring.

      And the smell of grass in the flowering summer.

      But, feelings, surging wave,

      I cannot forget, in a fit of light!

      I will not forget

      Hoping you wait,

      What I will come to you,

      What you tight hug,

      And I will be happy.

      But in vain do not cry,

      Quiet in the bed sheet,

      You will listen to night

      Voice of vernal drops.

      I won’t sing for you

      I will not warm myself.

      After all, my love is

      I will not forget with you.

      I will not forget an hour

      Kiss hot.

      Sheltered the night to us

      Month the watchman was us.

      Morning summer dawn

      The sun poured us.

      The day shone with warmth.

      Quickly dried dew.

      The sun poured us.

      The day shone with warmth.

      Intoxicated with beauty

      Girl soft hair.

      Autumn is drizzling

      Autumn is drizzling

      Small shot of rain.

      In the puddles leaves warm,

      In the gloom Sun.

      The branches are bare stretch,

      Wet five

      Trying to grab

      In the puddle the ray is golden.

      But, in vain try

      Jump into the cold water.

      Scooped and deceived

      No lively warmth.

      And there are sad

      Groves in a wet swell.

      To the sky pulled away

      Crowns of passionate pleading.

      Sect larch slender

      The trees will sing.

      In the jets of the wind submissive

      The sun will call in vain.

      Will not warm autumn

      By its gentle ray.

      Only the spring sun

      The cold will be driven away by.

      Blizzard snowstorm

      Move back to the snow.

      Spring will let the outskirts of

      Walk through the meadows.

      Twisted fingers twigs

      Will put foliage.

      Puddles of mirror-saucer

      Decorate yourself.

      Star of Love

      The sky is smoked by fog

      Bright day veiled swarthy.

      And the wound becomes sharper

      Disturbed feelings of relatives.

      Heart pain shrinks steeper,

      And sad in half with the