The Winter Road
by Alexander Pushkin
Breaking thro' the waving fogs
Forth the moon is coming,
And on the gloomy acres
She gloomy light is shedding.
Along the wintry, cheerless road
Flies the rapid troika
The little bell monotonous
Wearily is tinkling.
A certain homefulness is heard
In the driver's lengthy lays:
Now light-hearted carelessness,
Now low-spirited sadness.
Neither light, nor a dark hut . . .
Only snow and silence. . . .
Striped mileposts are alone
The travellers who meet us.
Sad I feel and weary. ... On the morrow,Nina,
To my beloved I returning
Forget myself shall by the fire
And scarce eno' at her shall gaze.
Loudly of my watch the spring
Its measured circle is completing
And us the parter of the wearied,
Midnight, not shall separate.
Sad I'm, Nina; my journey's weary;
Slumbering now, my driver is quiet
The little bell is monotonous
And darkened now is the moon's face.
Translator: Translated from the Russian, By Ivan Panin
Cupples And Hurd, 94 Boylston Street, Boston