By the hut, left by people and heaven, <br />Where the fence’s black remnants are steeping, <br />The ragged beggar and black old raven, <br />Were discussing the dreams of the sleeping. <br /> <br />The old bird, with commotion’s moans, <br />Was repeating in hot indecision, <br />That he had on the tower’s stones <br />The unusual, fabulous visions; <br /> <br />That in flight, full of valor and air, <br />He, who lost their usual sadness, <br />Was a swan, snow white, sweet and fair, <br />And the beggar – a prince of the greatness! <br /> <br />The ugly pauper was helplessly wailing. <br />Heavy night was descending and reigning. <br />The old woman, while passing the dwelling, <br />Was unceasingly crossing and praying.<br /><br />Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dreams-15/
