It is not even heard in the wide garden,
All is frozen here until the morning.
If (only) you knew how dear the
Moscow evenings are to me
The stream flows, and doesn't flow,
All out of (as a result of) the silver moon.
Songs are heard and not heard
In those quiet evenings.
For what (reason) darling, do you look aside.
Bowing your head down low?
It is difficult to express and not express
All that is in my heart.
And already the dawn is all the more noticeable,
So, please, let it be a nice one.
Don't you (endearingly) forget those
Moscow suburban summer evenings.