Во громѣ, звукѣ, стукѣ, трескѣ
Я всѣ утѣхи нахожу,
И въ шумной пышности и блескѣ
Свое я время провожу.
Тотчасъ куранты заиграютъ,
Лишь ферязи тряхну свои,
И въ ту минуту выступаютъ
И пляшутъ дѣвушки мои
Ушамъ привычливымъ не грубы
Литавры, барабаны, трубы,
И рѣзкій звонъ колоколовъ.
Ихъ звукъ и громъ для насъ не новъ,
И все то кажется намъ скучно,
Что въ головѣ шумитъ не звучно.
In thunder, sound, knocking, crash
I'm going to break,
And in noisy pomp and shoe
I spend your time.
Immediately, the Kurats will play
Only Ferianzi Rock his
And in that minute speakers
And dance me
Ears habit not rude
Litavra, Drums, Pipes,
And rѣzkiy ringing bells.
Their sound and thunder for us are not new,
And all that seems to us boring,
That in the head of the noise is not lying.
