I’m glad to see you, light stars of the fluffy first snow!
On the dark ground you instantly melt one by one.
Other snowflakes quick and easy instead of you fly up:
Bees in the motionless air are whirling this way.
Winter will be before long; pressed ice will be screaming
Under a sonorous iron of earnest fast sleighs,
Hard will be frost, beauties’ cheeks will be profusely blushing,
Their long lashes with rime will be tenderly touched.
Well then! Steppe village, the time’s come to leave you however,
I will not look at your cabins all covered with snow,
I will not see smokes floated in skies blue and clear,
White fields and hills, — and the looming mysterious wood.
Let you fall down, fine snow! Yet a far away city
Calls me again for a meeting with foes and friends.
Здравствуйте, лёгкие звёзды пушистого, первого снега!
Быстро на тёмной земле таете вы чередой.
Но проворно летят за вами другие снежинки,
Словно пчёлы весной, воздух недвижный пестря.
Скоро наступит зима; — под тонким и звучным железом
Резвых саней завизжит холодом стиснутый лёд.
Ярко мороз затрещит; румяные щёки красавиц
Вспыхнут; иней слегка длинных коснётся ресниц.
Так! пора мне с тобой расстаться, степная деревня!
Крыш не увижу твоих, мягких одетых ковром,
Струек волнистого дыма на небе холодном и синем,
Белых холмов и полей, грозных и тёмных лесов.
Падай обильнее, снег! Зовёт меня город, далекий;
Хочется встретить опять старых врагов и друзей.
«On a scrap of paper then I scribbled down the long address, / But I couldn’t say goodbye — the sheet I held in fingers’ press. / Sunbeams stretched upon the cobbles. On her lashes and her fur / Hat and steel-grey gloves wet snow began to fall in spreading blur. Then a man appeared to li...»
«They have murdered my Russia, these men, / She is wrapped in a word-stifling shroud! / I will harbour deep sorrowing, then — / Mute remain ’midst the villainous crowd. Sleep, my Russia entombed, oh now sleep, / Till luminous spring that we crave! / When the strobe of your lightning wi...»
«Yes, I dreamt before our parting / I’d be at your wedding feast. / At the porch — and this my dreaming — / You’re the bride; I’m begging beast. Let it happen as I dreamt it, / I beseech you, soothe my qualms — / As you exit, show me pity, / Don’t dismiss me with your alms»
«Once there was an anarchist, / Beard and cheeks he died — so cocky. / Mädchen he’d in Terijoki. / Sadist too — you get the gist. Round his neck the wrinkles clustered / Forming there a crimson shawl. / Lots he ate, with gloves he flustered — / In a word he did it all. At a pa...»