Page:Modern Russian Poetry.djvu/92

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Below a pine's rough shadow, Where loud the river sings, The hairy-handed devil Pushes his devilish swings.

He swings, and gives a crow, To and fro To and fro The boards creak, bending low, The taut rope rubbing slow Against the heavy boughs.

The board sways back, and bracing, With a long creak swings wide, The devil, still grimacing, Guffaws and holds his side.

I tremble to let go; To and fro To and fro I sway and cling, but no, My languid glances grow Fast where the devil tows.

Above the looming pine The blue fiend's sniggers sting: "You found the swings so fine, Well, devil take you, swing!"