'The Buglers' (Noam Korzhavin, 1955.)

(original http://libverse.ru/korzhavin/trybachi.html.
 English translation brought to you by #bitcoin-assets.)

Since childhood I've dreamed that a bugler would blow,
We'll wake and hear hoofbeats a-thundering go,
You'll learn who is who, and the truth cannot hide:
Your foes straight ahead, and your friends - at your side.

And then aeroplanes pierced the night with a roar,
And buglers were blowing their bugles once more,
Tachankas [1] and cannon did roll through the mud,
And heroes awakened, and out poured their blood,

With thunderous valor, all those years did shine
Yet still I would wait for some obvious sign.
I thought I saw all - but blind have I been,
As betwixt our friends did our foes scurry in.
And many a foe was within our own ranks,
And sometimes - they carried the flags at our flanks.

Life hits me hard, knocks me out of the ring.
But still I shall wait for my bugle to sing.
Though truth does not fade, and my conscience won't go
But days turn to years, yet that bugler won't blow.
And as old age draws near, will I remain strong,
And dream till I die, of the bugler's bright song?

But what if to blow it ourselves is our lot?
Since we, only we, are the buglers we've got.

[1] Who doesn't know, can look it up.
    Approximately - chariot, but with Maxim gun.