Na sóntse ùô´mnïy øes zarèéll,
v dõøíñe par àeøéyet tónkiy,
i öésñû ránñûyu zaöéll
v llazúòi zhávõrõnõk zvónkiy.
On gõllõåístõ s vïshïnî
põyót, na sóllnïshke süerkáya:
“Üesná pòishllá k nam mõllõdáya,
ya zèeå põyú pòiìód üesnî.
Zèeå tak øeìkó mñe, tak radúshnõ,
tak àespòeèéønõ, tak võzdúshnõ;
üeå Bózhïy ãir zèeå üízhu ya.
I slláüit Bóga öesñ mõyá!”

—Vasily Zhukovsky (1783–1852)

The dark forest gleams red with the sun’s rays,
a gentle mist whitens the valley,
and the lark’s morning song
rings out in the azure sky.
From the heights in resounding tones
he sings, glimmering in the sun:
“Young spring has come to us,
I’m here to sing of her arrival!
I am so light and joyful here,
in the boundless, airy skies,
from here I see God’s entire world.
And with my song I praise Him!”