Look around, my friends, autumn is here,
And winter in its white cloak is already near.
The birds are moving southward, flying far away,
They have a better place where it is safe to stay.
The forest dyed in yellow, soon all its leaves are gone,
The harvesters have gathered their grain and corn.
Naked seem the fields, bald like a Tatar’s head,
The lark dives from the sky, hunting for his bread.
Small pockets of grass retain the gleam of silk,
The sun is getting tired – its rays are growing weak.
Darkness ousts the light. It makes me so sad.
The wind is cold and nasty, spins around my head.
Autumn is depressing, as everyone agrees,
Flowers lose their bloom, leafless stand the trees.
A forsaken graveyard is brighter than this field,
Without the summer grass, gone is its glossy shield.
Six months of heavy slumber… So I can shut my eyes,
Oblivious completely to those gloomy skies.
Nothing will awake me, neither heavy wind nor rain,
I will awaken only when spring comes back again.
The carpet of young grass will tempt me to lie down.
Happy I will be like the shah showing off his crown.
I wonder why my people aren’t happy in their land.
So let the day take over, and night come to an end.
Will I ever see this happen while I’m still alive?
Just a dream it is, alas, first I have to die.
1906
В оригинале на татарском: Көз
В переводе на русский язык: Осень (Пер. А.Ахматовой)