Poslovici O Knige Na Kazahskom Yazike S Perevodom

May 27, 2018  This feature is not available right now. Please try again later. Published on May 27, 2018.

Not eve n a whisper is to be heard in the g arden, Everything has calme d down until dawn. If you o nly knew how dear th ey are to me, The evenings nea r Moscow!

T he river is moving and (so metimes) no t, All made of the m oons silver. A song sounds and is not to be heard In those quiet eve nings.

Why do you, darling, look at m e from the side, Be nding your hea d so low? It i s not easy to tell All the th ings that are in my heart.

And dawn is getti ng more and more vi sible. So, ple ase, be so kind: You, also, do nt forget The se summer eveni ngs near Mosc ow. Eve n whispers aren't hea rd in the garden, Everything has die d down till morning. If you on ly knew how dear t o me Are these Mosc ow nights. T he river moves, unmo ving, All in sil ver moonlight. A song is heard, yet un heard, In th ese silent nights.

Why do you, dear, loo k askance, With yo ur head lowered s o? Chem otkritj fajl sii. It is har d to express, and har d to hold back, Everything that my hear t holds. But the da wn's becoming ever brig hter. So plea se, just be go od. Do n't you, too, forg et Th ese summer, Moscow ni ghts.