| from,
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| Sandy shores, wooden huts,
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| Strawberries and mushrooms, groves and fields.
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| An ear with a sterlet, oh yes, dill from the garden,
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| Is it bad for a glass, oh, yes, in a different way,
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| Samosad will be smoked, and the soul will be undressed,
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| The buoy man, don't frown, brother, you're already tipsy.
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| The fire is lit, the conversation is changing
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| Life won't get better, I just remember suddenly
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| Dark blond braid and slightly sad eyes,
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| Quiet sadness in the chest, and farewell of the hands.
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| How much is measured to me - only the heart is told
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| To the end and carefully love your Russia,
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| Under a birch, maple, my soul is buried,
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| That is why I want to forgive everyone and everything.
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| The beautiful country sleeps, and the dawn is stubborn
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| All lips stretch, oh, kiss,
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| I won’t come back here already, with the lights from the barge to me,
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| Apparently, someone wants to wish happiness.
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| So they beat for matins, it's time to go, it's dreary,
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| Tomorrow again the hustle, a thousand different things,
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| And over the wide river, Russian blue-eyed,
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| Over the distant Oka evening burned out. |