Fyodor Tyutchev
- An Autumn Evening, by Frank Jude
- Autumn Evening, by Irina Zheleznova
«I drink to our demolished house, / To all this wickedness, / To you, our loneliness together, / I raise my glass — And to the dead-cold eyes, / The lie that has betrayed us, / The coarse, brutal world, the fact / That God has not saved us.»
«Dust smells of a sun-ray, / Girls’ breaths, — violets hold, / Freedom clings to the wild honey, / But there’s no smell to gold. The mignonette smells of water, / Apple-tang clings to love, / But we were always taught that / Blood smells only of blood. So it was no use the governo...»
«Some gaze into tender faces, / Others drink until morning light, / But all night I hold conversations / With my conscience who is always right. I say to her: "You know how tired I am, / Bearing your heavy burden, many years." / But for her, there is no such thing as time, / And for her,...»
«O.M. And the town is frozen solid, leaden with ice. / Trees, walls, snow, seem to be under glass. / Cautiously I tread on crystals. / The painted sleighs can’t get a grip. / And over the statue of Peter-in-Voronezh / Are crows, and populars, and a pale-green dome / Washed-out and mudd...»