How fine is this maid in the May dawn’s attire, Her a-waving silk tress in the flows of wind, And in flowers and scent burning passionate fire, And the rover’s far song o’er the river behind. How fine is this freedom in wildness and glory: There, a warm arm is stretched – there, is touched a warm arm… And the both are chained – for a minute, no more – By that minute of love that’ll be endless in Time. Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, September, 2003