There, under the olive trees near a noisy cascade,
Where juicy grass dotted with dew,
Where joy joyful shouts cicada
And Rose is proud of the beauty of the south,
Where the temple left podyal its white dome
And columns up curly ivy runs -
I'm sad: the world of the gods, be now,
Hand ignorance oblivion brands.
In vain ... At midnight, like a nightingale east
Flutes, and I wandered invisible behind a wall,
I saw Graz sbiralsya at the appointed hour
In the former shelter overgrown paths.
But not seem windy goddess in the dance
Froth forms on the golden moon;
No, - that in a tight circle, whispering beauty ...
"Hellas" - Did I hear often in silence.
<1840> Athanasius Fet
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