Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet (5 December 1820 - 3 December 1892 / Novosyolky)

What grief! The alley's end
Is lost in snow again today,
And once again, the silver snakes
Are crawling through the snow.

The sky's without a patch of blue,
The steppe's completely smooth and white,
A single crow is struggling hard
To beat its wings against the storm.

My soul is frozen as the land,
There is no sign of dawning there.
My languid thought drops off to sleep
Above my slowly dying work.

But in my heart still glows a hope
That accidentally, perhaps,
My soul will once again grow young
And see its native home once more,

A land where storms may come and go,
Where thought is passionate and pure,-
And where a chosen few can see
How spring and beauty bloom.