Лунное Дитя [Lunnoye Ditya] [English translation]

Kings are gathering in a place where strawberry is blooming,

They decorate their crowns with the modesty of pure dew.

Nettle had resented, but, upon reflection, wilted,

Sleep, my only child, my moon child.

Queens have adorned their light brown braids with flowers,

There are tipsiness and roistering of the spring, reflecting in their eyes.

Don’t look – those are silly games of regal adults,

Sleep, my only child, my moon child.

Moon Child,

In a moon cradle,

Moon Child,

Lord of the stars.

For you are ringing

The strings faintly,

Moon Child,

Miracle of mine!

Over a bright bonfire will jump great shadows,

And for the harvest moon guests their clothes will seem to be too binding.

There’ll be no strawberry anymore, wreaths will go with the flow…

Sleep, my only child, my moon child…