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Alyaksei Rusetski
Alyaksei Rusetski на
Ведах беларускіх

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Ah, April, what you can do to a chap! You red-head witch quite tipsy on sap. All kinds of nonsense creeps into my head: I walk in the woods — I’m a lad, instead. My boots are wet through, my nostrils flare, I sense the past snows and decaying earth, the golden bloom on the nut-trees there, and hear the ant-hill breathing beneath. Again I feel: the world is so warm, it’s ready to promise me, for my joy, the bright-winged butterflies beautiful swarm, and a riot of colourful flowers to deploy.

Like a nightingale’s notes sounds the trill of the thrush, and the branches are full of heart-shaped buds just opening out, while in the glade the aureole of green casts its early shade. The sun’s overcast in blue skies for a time, with sharp shining knives the storm showers come, and stab them into my burning spine.

The spring is here, the bumble-bees hum. But you don’t appear with a bunch of flowers from out of that youthful wood of ours.


-I ■■ — —— ~

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Collections: Belarusan Lyric poetry