It was cold and wet,
Shadows huddled in the corners.
Tears streamed down the windowpanes,
Like heroes of melodramas.
Smoke! Fire! A flame flashed!
Nothing is a pity now…
I lay with my feet toward the door,
Elegant as a grand piano.
A fleeting squadron of hussars,
And a bottle of champagne.
And a worn-out sofa creaks,
Like a horse-drawn phaeton.
Rzhevsky sleeps with some floozy,
I wasn't alone either.
You ran off for vodka,
Down to the tavern shop.
A shadow, from the curtains fell on the floor,
And the butler sleeps in the corner.
Smoke! Fire! A flame flashed!
Cat hair on the carpet.
Into battle tomorrow! Prince Obolensky!
There will be a fight for the country!
Into battle tomorrow! Prince Obolensky!
The Frenchman is pushing toward Moscow.
Tomorrow to the beat of drums,
We'll drive them over mane and tail.
Under Kutuzov's fanfares,
Into a full-height bayonet charge.
But now, only rain and flame!
Shadows huddle in the corners.
Tears stream down the windowpanes,
Like heroes of melodramas.
Smoke! Fire! A flame flashed!
Nothing is a pity now…
I lay with my feet toward the door,
Elegant as a grand piano.
(Restored from my lost one)
A. A. Kiselev
09/10/2016