What a splendid woman, Spreading wide her arms, Sleeps by dusty apple-tree. Water softly hums. In the crumble clover sated bees too hum, On her breast, spots roam from the golden sun. By the little channel, I ride on my horse. What a splendid woman! Braids, in grass, are lost! My steed, calm and old, looks, confused, aside. Those spots of gold as a palm are wide… Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, July, 2001