что ж вы, зори росные, утром в кровь багрянитесь

What's wrong with you, dewy dawns, blushing in blood in the morning?
With the blood of our hearts, we wash away the distance
Why do you, misty valleys, welcome sons back from war?
With pine moonshine, bitter herb brew

What's wrong with you, quiet herbs, acting wild like hops?
Melting waters of wormwood in us, and whirlwinds dance
What's wrong with you, wild winds, drunk like a song?
In the depths of the seven heavens, the cries of cranes

What's wrong with you, autumn birds, weaving into the forest's dream?
The pain of my land and the smoke of ruins
The forest crone gives them birch sap
Ash, witch-fog, and steel dawn

What's wrong with you, dewy dawns, blushing in blood in the morning?
Then Perun's sword thirsts for fiery days
How do you, sacred days, wash away the earth's sorrow?
With the moonshine of glorious wars in the mourning of false flocks

How do you, ravens of Nav, announce the valleys?
Calling the fierce, with the call of fierce battles
In the tears of rain, tomorrow we wash away
With the magic of spring, the joy of the sons of Rus