One From Russia

Sergei Esenin (1910)  He would have been 15

Scarlet rays the rising sun weaves into the lake.
Woodcocks, wailing on the boughs, pinewood echoes wake.

There's a weeping oriole hidden in a tree.
I alone don't wish to weep—all is fine with me.

Down the road at eventide you shall come, I know.
In the nearest rick we'll sit with fresh hay below.

I shall kiss you till you swoon, crush you like a bloom.
When a fellow's drunk with joy for reason there's no room.

You'll respond to my caress, cast your veil away,
I shall bear you to the bushes, there till dawn we'll stay.

Let the woodcocks loud and long weep their fill and mourn!
There's a merry wistfulness in the scarlet dawn.

(Peter Tempest) http://sergey.esenin.in.english.land.ru/poetry3.html