Page:Poems, Alexander Pushkin, 1888.djvu/110

104 THE WINTER-ROAD.

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 &hellip;

Only snow and silence.&hellip;

Striped mileposts are alone

The travellers who meet us.