Page:Modern Russian Poetry.djvu/193

Rh

In the clear cold the dales grow blue and tremble; The iron hoofs beat sharply, knock on knock. The faded grasses in wide skirts assemble Flung copper where the wind-blown branches rock.

From empty straths, a slender arch ascending: Fog curls upon the air and, moss-wise, grows, And evening, low above the wan streams bending, In their white waters washes his blue toes.