HOPE by MIKHAIL YUREVICH LERMONTOV

I HAVE a bird of paradise;
Upon a springing cypress-tree
She sits for hours while daylight flies,
And not a song by day sings she.
Her back is of celestial blue,
Her head is purple; flaming dye
Upon her wings, of golden hue
Like dawn's reflection in the sky.
Only when earth is slumbering,
Hidden, as night mists silent roll,
Upon her bough she starts to sing
So sweetly, sweetly to the soul,
That forced by it, your load of pain
Forgetting, you must sing away,
And in your heart each tender strain
Is a dear friend who comes to stay.
Often in tempests I have heard
That song which means so much to me,
And always for my peaceful bird
I listen, listen hopefully.

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