Introduction

 



 
     Im nightingale: no traits I carry
     And without special depth I sing.
     But everyone, from crone to baby,
     Will know me, singer of the spring.

     Im nightingale, I am a graybird,
     But like a rainbow is my song.
     I only have a single habit:
     To other lands to lure the throng.

     Im nightingale! What for, then, so
     Is godless critic with his scorn?
     Seek, swine, the treasure in a trough,
     And not in garlands made of thorns!

     Im nightingale, and, beside singing,
     No other use can come of me.
     I am so wondrous beyond reason
     That Reason bows before my feet! 
 
 
© Copyright Igor Severyanin