Sunday, April 12, 2009

Pushkin on Spring

Spring rays at last begin to muster
And chase from nearby hills the snow,
Whose turbid streams flow down and cluster
To inundate the fields below.
And drowsy nature, smiling lightly,
Now greets the dawning season brightly.
The heavens sparkle now with blue;
The still-transparent woods renew
Their downy green and start to thicken.
The bee flies out from waxen cell
To claim its meed from field and dell.
The vales grow dry and colors quicken;
The cattle low; and by the moon
The nightingale pours forth its tune.

(from Onegin, translated from the Russian)

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