DAGHESTAN

Winter scourges his horses

Through the North,

His hair is bitter snow

On the great wind.

The trees are weeping leaves

Because the nests are dead,

Because the flowers were nests of scent

And the nests had singing petals

And the flowers and nests are dead.

Your voice brings back the songs

Of every nest,

Your eyes bring back the sun

Out of the South,

Violets and roses peep

Where you have laughed the snow away

And kissed the snow away,

And in my heart there is a garden still

For the lost birds.

Song of Daghestan.