Page:Modern Russian Poetry.djvu/119

Rh

In the valley the birches are bored. On the meadows, fog billows and weighs. Sodden, with horse-dung floored, The highroad blackens in haze.

Rich on the steppe's sleepy air, The odor of freshly-baked bread. Bent to their packs, slowly fare Two beggars to look for a bed.

Round puddles gleam in the streets. The fumes of the ovens stun. Thawing, the bleak earthen seats Smolder and steam in the sun.

By the corn-bin, dragging his chain, The sheep-dog yawns on the sill. Walls smoke with the charcoal stain. The steppe is foggy and still.

The carefree cock will perform Day-long for the sap-stirred earth. In the fields it is drowsy and warm, In the heart—indolent mirth.