Translate to:

Through the wavy fog
sneaks moon,
At the sad glades
Light pours sad it.

On the way, winter, dull
Troika greyhound runs,
bell monotonous
tiring rattles.

Something you hear native
In many songs coachman:
The merry-making swashbuckling,
That heart yearning ......

no fire, no black hut,
Wilderness and snow ... At the meeting I
Only a mile striped
Popadayutsya one ...

dull, sad ... tomorrow, Nina,
Tomorrow cute returning,
I forget the fireplace,
Zahlyazhus not nahlyadyas.

Loudly arrow hour
Measuring your lap will make,
AND, eliminating tiresome,
Midnight do us part.

sadly, Nina: My way is boring,
Napping smolknul my coachman,
bell odnozvuchen,
Otumanen moon face.

Most read poems of Anna Akhmatova


All poems of Anna Akhmatova

Leave a Reply