A gust of wind, a howl of snow…
Yet, for a moment, in my mind,
A land, a distant shore, would glow
With faded colours from behind.
And like a dried-up feather-grass
My ancient longings spring from sleep…
I try to steal through a snowy pass,
Yet to the precipice I creep.
Night, woods and snow I have to wade,
To haul the burden of my lot…
Then, suddenly – a little hut,
And girl is singing in the glade.
- Alexander Blok,1919
Trans. by V.Postnikov,2008
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In the darkest moments of our lives Hope is always there just like spring follows Winter.