Konstantin Balmont

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