Echo

Author: Boris Pasternak
Translated (from original Russian) by: Yevgeny Bonver
Written: 1915
Introduction:
This is the first of a series of poems I intend to post by Boris Pasternak

A little nightingale, for a night,
Means what a pail means for well, fulled.
I'm not sure, that starry skies glide
From songs to the other ones, truly.

But when her night song fuller rings,
The night o'er the song comes else broader.
A root of a tree better brings
When sop strikes into rooter's borders.

And if there is wordless delight
Of beauty of leafage of birches,
It seems, that a song strikes a hut,
With chain, that is mighty and tourtures.

And then sadness drops from the steel,
And then night dissolves into mire,
And all, till the far ploughed fields
Through it from the garden, is spied.