«Причинна» Тарас Шевченко

Wide Dnipro roars and bellows, Angry winds around it rave, Willows bend, the waters billow, Mountains rise with every wave. Pale moon peers through clouds' disguise, From the blue sea it emerges, Like a boat on ocean's rise, Now it floats, now it submerges. Roosters yet haven't sung, No one stirs in noise or din, Owls in woods their echoes flung, While the ash tree creaks within. 'Neath the hill in such a time, By that grove so calm and fair, Something white, so pure and prime, Wanders softly in the air. Perhaps a mermaid seeks her kin, Or waits for her Cossack bold, To whisper sweetly with a grin, And cherish memories old. 'Tis not a mermaid wandering free, But a maiden lost in thought, Not knowing why, for reasons three, She wanders as she ought. Such is fate the witch designed, To ease her lonely plight, To wander 'neath the midnight sky, And dream until daylight.