A Tired Day - Sergei Esenin

When a tired day bowed down to the night
The waves fell still, the birds wouldn’t fly,
The sun set down over the hills (what a sight!)
And musingly the moon floated in the sky.
In the vale, the peaceful silvery brook
Babbled sweet nothings to the hushed dale,
While dark forest, dreamily bowed and took
In the trills of the nightingale’s long tale,
Attentive to the songs and the quiet bustle,
The river whispered, caressing the banks.
On the hill above, the reeds gently rustled
Happily singing, (or giving their thanks).

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Translated by K.M.W. Klara

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The tired day droops, slowly waning,
The noisy waves are now tranquil.
The sun has set, the moon is sailing
Above the world, absorbed and still.

The valley listens to the babbles
Of peaceful river in the dale.
The forest, dark and bending, slumbers
To warbling of the nightingale.

The river, listening in and fondling,
Talks with the banks in quiet hush.
And up above resounds,   A-rolling,
The merry rustle of the rush.

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Alternative translation by Alec Vagapov

Sergei Esenin (Yesenin) (1895 - 1925) Russia