The night has turned pale and the month is setting
Over the river with a red sickle.
Sleepy fog in the meadows is silvery
The black reeds are damp and smoking,
The wind rustles with reeds.
Quiet in the village. There is a lamp in the chapel
Dims, weary grief.
Into the quivering gloom of the frozen garden
Coolness flows from the steppe in waves ...
The dawn glows slowly.
(I. Bunin)
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Pieces | 150 |
Size | 900x600 |
Complexity | simple |
Added | Leia |
Published | 9/7/18 |
Players | 202 |
Best time | 00:00:11 |
Average time | 00:25:04 |
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