вредный север. классика

http://www.poetry-classic.ru/4-40.html ; http://www.poetry-classic.ru/4-41.html ;
http://www.poetry-classic.ru/4-42.html

but our summer of the northern,
a southern winters' pasquinade,
would flashed and passed: it is known,
though we don't want it to confess.
the sky breathed already in autumn,
the sun starred already not often
the day was growing shorter then,
of forests mysterious shade
with a sad noise was stripping bare,
a fog was laying on the fields,
a caravan of strident geese   
was stretching south: it was coming
yet pretty boring season time;
November stood here at the yard.

the dawn rises in a chill fog;
the noise of works ceased on the crops;
with his the very hungry she-wolf
a wolf comes out on the road;
on feeling him, a travel equine
snorts - and a cautious viator
rushs uphill at the fullest worth;
a shepherd at the morning dawn
does not drive cows out the barn,
and at midday to the mid-laund
they are not called by clarion;
a maiden, singing in the hut,
sits weaving, and, winter nightly friend,
in front of her a torchlet crackles.

and already here are the crack-frosts
and silvering among the fields...
(the reader waits the rhyme "the rose";
that's here, go grab it swift!)
much neater than the fashion parquet
the river shines, iced decorated.
the joyful folk of careless boys
cuts icy cover by skate noise;
a heavy goose on his red paws,
of wish to swim on waters' breast,
steps cautiously onto the glaze,
he slides and falls; the joyful-play,
the first snow flashes, curls and whirls,
like stars, while falling on the shore.

#А_С_П_ASCII_ANSI  #a_ex