Сквозь волнистые туманы Пробирается луна, На печальные поляны...

Through wavy mists
 The moon is sneaking
 On the sad glades
 She pours sad light.
 On the road winter, boring
 The troika greyhound is running,
 Monotonous bell
 It tiresomely rattles.
 Something is heard native
 In the long songs of the driver:
 That rant,
 That heart yearning ... No fire, no black hut,
 Wilderness and snow ... Meet me
 Only versts stripes
 Come across one ..