L.Kostenko, Autumn - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

By Lina Kostenko

And grass is all hoarfrosted now,
The ash-tree falled down its hands...
But leaves are hardly to twirl round,
And ice's not glazed the plain of lake.

But on the curb the birches, frozen
To their core, are curdled up...
Not from the frost, but from fore-token
Of coming winter, snow-white.

Let's warm my hands, my dear, close
The window leaf, I'm stunned by cold,
That's shivering me in the soul
By feel of separation, before long...
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Under translation from ukranian into russian
by Valentina Varnavskaya