Spring has come like all the others:
The songs of streams, the silence that hovers...
Yet why is it now so much more dear
This all renewing spring that appears?Drawn out you are, without a word
Into the light and the songs of birds.
This fresh new world to you is come—
Without knowing why, much less where from.An unexplained joy, springtime’s art,
Makes a home in your heart of hearts.
Then you yourself become the spring,
A heaven within, all fresh and brimming.Let me, like ice, melting away
Go lightly toward that very last day.
And like the springtime waters free,
Wash away what is old in me.—Andrei Dementiev