A poem by Alexander Pushkin – Pouchkine, Pooshkin (1799-1837), in English translation


Between the rolling vapours

The moon glides soft and bright;

Across the dreary fallows

She casts a mournful light.

Along the wintry high road

A troika moves fleet;

Its little bells are ringing

One silver tone and sweet.

Some echo of my country

The driver’s song recalls-

The memory of love yearnings

And noisy bacchanals.

No lights, no black-roofed dwellings-

Silence and snow … I see

For mile on mile the road-posts

In striped monotony.

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