Белой акации гроздья душистые [Beloy akatsii grozd'ya dushistyye] [English translation]

Nightingales whistled to us till sunny dawn could bloom,

Towns were silent and homes dimmed lights.

Odor of fragrant acacia white bunches flew

driving us crazy through that magic night.

Our garden was washed with the spring fresh rains,

Water stood still in the dark ditches depth.

Heaven is witness, how artless we were that days,

How naïve, how young we were yet.

Years have passed having brought whiteness in the hair,

Where is purity of bloom and bright?

Only winter with hard snowstorms weather

Can still remind me of that sense tonight.

And at the moments when I hear stormy gusts

With all my soul I feel and forsee:

Fragrant acacia white bunches with crazy nights

Can not come back like the youth days of me.

Fragrant acacia white bunches with crazy nights

Can not come back like the youth days of me.