I left the native home…

I left the native home, I-left
Left my blue Russia.
The birch wood in three stars over the pond
Warms my old mother’s sadness.

The moon like a golden frog
Has sprawled on the calm water.
Like the bloom of the apple tree,
Gray hair has appeared in my father’s beard.

I will not soon, not soon return!
The blizzard will sing, ring, for long.
The old maple tree on its only leg
Is guarding the blue Russia

And I know, there is joy in him
For those, who kiss the rain on the leaves
Because that old maple tree
His head, it resembles me.

By Sergey Yesenin – 1918
Translated by Lyuba Coffey