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Nastoyaschij pisatel' - eto to zhe, chto drevnij prorok: on vidit yasnee, chem obychnye lyudi. - A.P. CHehov

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      VOZVRASCHENIE
 
 
I zdes' dusha unyniem ob'yata.
Nelaskov byl mne rodiny privet;

Tak smotrit drug, lyubivshij nas kogda - to,
No v kom davno uzh prezhnej very net.

Sentyabr' shumel, zemlya moya rodnaya
Vsya pod dozhdem rydala bez kontsa,
I chernyh ptits za mnoj letela staya,
Kak budto by pochuyav mertvetsa!

Volnuemyj toskoyu i boyazn'yu,
Naprasno gnal ya groznye mechty,
Mezh tem kak les s kakoj - to nepriyazn'yu
V menya brosal holodnye listy,

I veter mne gudel neumolimo:
Zachem ty zdes', iznezhennyj poet?
CHego ot nas ty hochesh'? Mimo! mimo!
Ty nam chuzhoj, tebe zdes' dela net!

I pesnyu ya uslyshal v otdalen'i.
Znakomaya, ona byla gor'ka,
Zvuchalo v nej bessil'noe tomlen'e.
Bessil'naya i vyalaya toska.

S toj pesnej vnov' v dushe zashevelilos',
O chem davno ya pozabyl mechtat',
I proklyal ya to serdtse, chto smutilos'
Pered bor'boj - i otstupilo vspyat'!..

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