Author of quotes: Sergey Alexandrovich Yesenin. Page 4

In the morning in rye sakuta,
Where Zlata mats in a row
Seven amanila bitch
Red seven puppies.
Until the evening she caressed,
Precisava language
And streamed snow pedaly
Under her warm belly.
And in the evening when the chickens
Cover the hearth,
Owner came out gloomy,
The seven, all put them in a bag.

I don't need the breath of the grave,
The word secret not to hug.
Teach, so you can
Never to Wake up.

You were crying in the evening silence,
And bitter tears on the ground was updale,
And it was hard and so sad to me.
And yet, we each other did not understand.
You sped off to a distant land
And all the dreams were left without color,
Again and again one is left I
To suffer soul without affection and love.
And often I evening sometimes
Go to the places cherished Dating,
And I see in my dreams I cute your image,
And I hear in the silence of the dreary hour.

Maple you my fallen down, a maple iced over,
Standing stooping under the Blizzard white?
Or what did you see? Or heard?
Like for the village to take a walk you're out.
And as a drunken guard, out on the road
Drowned in the snow, freezing leg.

Dissuaded Golden grove
Birch merry language
And the cranes, sadly flying,
I do not regret any more about anyone.

Are you still alive my old lady?
Alive and I. Hello to you, Hello!
Let flowing over your hut
That evening ineffable light.
Write me what you, concealing anxiety,
Sad helluva lot about me
You often go on the road
In an old dilapidated shushune.
And you in the blue evening gloom
Often seen thing well:
If someone in pub brawl
Slammed under the heart of the Finnish knife.
Nothing, dear! Calm down.
This is just painful nonsense.
Not that I'm bitter drunkard,
So, you're not seeing to die.

Have vytkalsya on lake red light of dawn.
On the Bor with the ringing cry grouse.
Crying somewhere Oriole, Sharunas in the hollow.
Only I'm not crying - my heart is light.
Know will come in the evening for the ring roads,
Sit in stacks fresh under a nearby haystack.
Love drunk, will somno, such as color,
Melinoma from the joy of gossip is not.
You're under the caresses reset silk veils,
I'll take drunk until the morning in the bushes.
And let with the ringing cry grouse,
There is a longing in the fun Aloth of dawn.

Among the people I friendship does not have
I conquered another Kingdom.
Here every dog on the neck
I am ready to give my best tie.

America is the stench where one loses not only the art, but generally the best impulses of humanity.

I stayed one game:
The fingers in his mouth and cheerful whistle.
Swept notoriety,
What I pohabnik and kicker.

No regrets, no pain, no sorrow,
Everything goes, as a white Apple smoke.
Wilt gold covered
I'm not young any more.
<...>
I now become meaner desires,
My life, or you dreamed of me?
I like the spring booming morning
Galloped on a pink horse.

Do you remember
You all certainly remember...

Who sings there under the shade of a birch?
Sounds like familiar to me -
It tears again... It tears
And longing for the home side.
But I'm at home sweet,
And in tears he istamil his chest.
Eh... only, apparently, in cold grave
I forget and can't sleep.

But these cute fun
Not darkened your image,
And forged in bronze glory
You shake the proud head.
And I'm standing as before the communion,
And say in response to you:
I would die now of happiness
Podobrannye such a fate.
But, doomed to the persecution
I've been going to sing...
To my steppe and singing
Managed the bronze to ring.