Page:Poems, Alexander Pushkin, 1888.djvu/108

102 WINTER EVENING.

storm the sky with darkness covers,

The snowy whirlings twisting;

Like a beast wild now is howling,

Like an infant now is crying;

Over the aged roof now sudden

In the straw it rustling is;

Like a traveller now belated

For entrance at our window knocking.

With melancholy and with darkness

Our little, aged hut is filled

Why in silence then thou sittest

By the window, wife old mine?

Or by the howling storms art

Wearied thou, О companion mine?

Or perchance art slumbering,

By the rustling spindle soothed?

Let us drink, О kindly friend

Of my poverty and youth,

Away with grief,—where is the cup?

Joy it shall bring to our heart.