Winter in the village

At night in the fields, to the tunes of a blizzard,
Doze, swaying, birches and ate ...
The month between the clouds over the field shines, -
A pale shadow comes and melts ...
I think at night: between white birches
Frost wanders in the misty radiance.

At night in a hut, to the tunes of a blizzard,
The cradle creak is quietly heard ...
The light of the month is silvery in the dark -
In the frozen glass on the benches streams ...
I think at night: between the birches
Frost looks into the silent huts.

Dead field, steppe road!
The blizzard sweeps you over at night
Your villages are sleeping to the songs of a blizzard
Lonely spruces doze in the snow ...
I think at night: do not steppe around -
Frost wanders in the deaf churchyard ...
Ivan Alekseevich Bunin.