Between the rolling vapours <br />The moon glides soft and bright; <br />Across the dreary fallows <br />She casts a mournful light. <br /> <br />Along the wintry high road <br />A troika moves fleet; <br />Its little bells are ringing <br />One silver tone and sweet. <br /> <br />Some echo of my country <br />The driver's song recalls— <br />The memory of love yearnings <br />And noisy bacchanals. <br /> <br />No lights, no black-roofed dwellings— <br />Silence and snow ... I see <br />For mile on mile the road-posts <br />In striped monotony.<br /><br />Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-high-road-in-winter/
