Spring Poem by Piotr Andreevich Viazemsky
Spring
'Ah, Spring, sweet Spring, chief pride of Nature!'
The air is foul, the ground is sludge;
Men curse the mud when they go walking,
And plunged in muck, a horse can't budge.
The cab breaks down, so does the carriage;
Season of colds in chest and nose,
To you, fair Spring, is reverence tendered
By cartwrights and by medicos.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: horse,pride,spring
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8/28/2026 6:13:43 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
