In the old days my soul was innocent
And in those old days I loved
The storms of noisy nature
And the secret storms of passions.

But soon I learned the secrets
Of their ugly beauty
And I got bored with their incoherent
And deafening language.

And now ‒ more from year to year ‒
I give the freedom for my peaceful desires
I like clear weather in the morning
I like quiet conversation in the evening.

translation by Igor Prokhorov