It was not the wind, blowing from the heights, that touched the leaves on a moonlit night.
My soul was touched by you. It trembled, like leaves; it, like a harp, is many-stringed.
I was bedeviled by everyday maelstroms and crushing invasions, whistling and howling, it tore the strings and buried everything under cold snow.
Your voice caresses my ear, your touch is light, like a floating flower petals, like the air of a May night.
The student choir "Cantabile" of the Leningrad Regional College of Culture and Art(St. Petersburg, Russia)