I'm nightingale: no traits I carry And without special depth I sing. But everyone, from crone to baby, Will know me, singer of the spring. I'm 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. I'm 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! I'm nightingale, and, beside singing, No other use can come of me. I am so wondrous beyond reason That Reason bows before my feet! By Igor Severyanin Translated by Ilya Shambat https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat
