By Mikhail Matusovsky <br /> <br />All night the nightingale was whistling warbles, <br />The town was mute, mute were houses all. <br />And all the night the white acacia's clusters <br />Were turning us to excitement from love. <br /> <br />The garden was all washed up by the spring rainstorms. <br />In the ravins water was so dark. <br />Oh God, how naive we were in that time all, <br />How we were happy and how young. <br /> <br />Years had passed, making us the grey-haired. <br />Where's the clearness of boughs thick? <br />Only the white blizzard and the cold winter <br />Are the reminder of past blossoming. <br /> <br />And while wind rages quite frenzy, <br />I feel in me with a power new: <br />The white acacia's clusters sweet-scented <br />Are just inimitable as my youth. <br /> <br /> <br />- <br />The popular russian romance<br /><br />Lyudmila Purgina<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/m-matusovsky-all-night-the-nightingale-transl-rus/
