The gold stars are sleeping,

The mirror-pond trembles,

The dawn light comes creeping

And heaven's net reddens.

The birch-tree smites sleepily,

Her silk locks free-flowing,

Green earrings are rustling.

And silver dew glowing.

Tall nettles by the fencing

Their bright pearls are flaunting

And whispering merrily:

"Good morning!"

1914

Translated by Peter Tempest

Internet source: http://sergey.esenin.in.english.land.ru/