V. Stolbov

Let me have my death very facile –  
Such as grasses of fields oft have, 
Stars will shine over me - not a candle,
And the earth will become my grave.

Let the traitors, from light, will be hidden
Under stony vaults in a mist, 
I was honest, and for this reason
I may die with my face to East.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, February, 2003