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SONGS OF THE RUSSIAN PEOPLE: 2, by                    
First Line: "'why, o dove, art thou so joyless?'"
Last Line: Wounded her with a weapon of gold
Subject(s): Russia; Soviet Union;russians

"WHY, O Dove, art thou so joyless?"
How can I, poor Dove, be joyous?
Late last night my mate was with me.
My mate was with me, on one wing she slept,
Slept on one wing, embraced me with the other,
With the other embraced me, calling me her dear one.
"Dear beloved one! Dovelet blue!
Sleep, yet do not sleep, my dovelet,
Only do not, sleeping, lose me, darling."
The Dove awoke, his mate was gone!
Hither, thither, he flung himself, dashed himself,
Hither, thither, in homes of nobles,
Homes of nobles, princes, merchants.
In a merchant's garden did I find my Dove,
In a merchant's garden, underneath an apple-tree;
Underneath an apple-tree, wounded sore with shot!
The merchant's son had wounded my Dove,
Wounded her with a weapon of gold.

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