Along the precipice, overlooking the abyss, on the very edge
The horses, by their own lash, I whip, I drive on...
Something in the air is lacking - I drink the wind, I swallow the fog,
I catch the scent with fatal enthusiasm: I fall, fall!

Only slower, horses, slower!
You need not heed the lash so closely!
But these horses appear spirited to me -
And give time enough neither to live, nor even finish the song.

I sing to the horses, I finish the verse -
Although for a moment still I stand on the edge...

I will disappear - a hurricane sweeping a flake from my palm,
And in my sleigh we will gallop through the morning snow,
Stroll leisurely on the track, my horses,
And draw out the path to the last shelter, just a little!

Only slower, horses, slower!
The whip and lash are not your masters!
But these horses appear spirited to me -
And give time enough neither to live, nor even finish the song.

I sing to the horses, I finish the verse -
Although for a moment still I stand on the edge...

We had time: there are no delays for the guests of God,
Did angels there sing with such evil voices?!
Did this bell exhaust itself from the sobbing,
Or did I shout to horses, that they not bear so rapidly the sleigh?!

Only slower, horses, slower!
I beg of you, do not gallop as though you flew!
But these horses appear spirited to me -
And give time enough neither to live, nor even finish the song.

I sing to the horses, I finish the verse -
Although for a moment still I stand on the edge...