Песенка о пехоте [Pesenka o pekhote] [English translation]

Forgive the infantry,

That we can often seem so unreasonable:

We always seem to be leaving

Just when spring is in full bloom over the earth.

And with uncertain step,

And along an unsteady ladder, there cannot be any saving grace...

Only the white willow-trees, like pale sisters, follow you with their eyes.

Don't trust the weather

when it pours down protracted rains.

Don't trust the infantry

when we sing gallant hymns.

Do not trust, do not trust

when the nightingale starts his call in the gardens:

Life isn't finished sorting out its differences with death yet.

Time has always tried to teach us:

Live transiently, with an open door...

Fellow man,

but your duty is nevertheless quite tempting:

You are always on the move,

and only one thing interrupts your dreaming:

Why do we always seem to be leaving

just when spring is in full bloom over the earth?

Where in the world are we leaving to,

when spring is in full bloom over the earth?