Along the brim line of a precipice, right by the very edge-stone With a whip to drive my horses I do switch them, I do urge on... Being short of air swallow, fog and wind when drinking, drawing, - Smelling raptures with horror: sure going, Iím sure going! Little slower, my horses, little slow, I say! Donít hear the tough lashís hit! But somewhat true is about my horses that capricious are they, No time left to live and to sing in complete. Iíll finish my song, Iíll give horses to drink - Just a moment as longer will stand on the brink... Vanished I, like off the palm the hurricane would puff some down, On the morning snow sledging at a gallop shanít I drive them, - Change your pace to one unhurried, oh my horses, slow down, Please, prolong my way a little to the terminal asylum! Little slower, my horses, little slow, I say! Donít fly at unlimited speed. But somewhat true is about my horses that capricious are they, No time left to live and to sing in complete. Iíll finish my song, Iíll give horses to drink - Just a moment as longer will stand on the brink... Done in time it: there may be no delay to see Godís palace, - Why are the angels singing there with one voice in such a malice?! Whether this is just a small bell in hysterics and a sob all, Or when shouting at horses itís my trying them to stop call?! Little slower, my horses, little slow, I say! Could you lower your racing a bit! But somewhat true is about my horses that capricious are they, No time left to live, if only sing in complete! Iíll finish my song, Iíll give horses to drink Just a moment as longer will stand on the brink...
© Natalia Tverskova. Translation, 2000