LILY OF THE VALLEY
Wood, heat woken blackens,
With spring dampness it is filled.
And on pearl threads
From a wind of everyone shiver.
Buds round jingles
Are still closed and dense,
But the sun opens nimbuses
At hand bells of spring.
The nature carefully спеленатый,
Wrapped in wide sheet,
The flower grows in a solitude untouched,
It is cool, fragile and fragrant.
Wood весною раннею pines,
And all happy melancholy,
And all fragrance
It has given to a bitter flower.