It is a morning all misty, all grey,
Snow-clad, dull are the grainfield spaces,
Absently thinking of things far-away,
You will recall those bygone faces.
You will recall your impassioned words rise,
How you timidly yearned to be noticed,
Those first dates and final goodbyes,
That dear voice which sounds remotest.
As you recall these, detachedly you’ll smile,
You will recall much that’s cherished and hazy,
Listing the rumbling of wheels all the while,
Into the vast sky thoughtfully gazing.
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«Утро туманное, утро седое…», ноябрь 1843 года; другое название «В дороге»
Turgenev I. It is a morning all misty, all grey...
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