Mikhail Ancharov

Let wails of the stars vanish far in a past,
This hasn’t any matter in whole!
It flies over Earth in the meteors’ dust –
The bard’s ever-jubilant soul.
My friends, drink the beautiful wine of the Earth!
Don’t cry, dear friends, and don’t mourn:
I’ll strike in the night at your window else,
Returning to orbits around.   


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, March, 2001