The crimson summer now grows pale; <br />Clear, bright days now soar away; <br />Hazy mist spreads through the vale, <br />As the sleeping night turns gray; <br />The barren cornfields lose their gold; <br />The lively stream has now turned cold; <br />The curly woods are gray and stark, <br />And the heavens have grown dark. <br /> <br />Where are you, my light, Natasha? <br />No one's seen you, - I lament. <br />Don't you want to share the passion <br />Of this moment with a friend? <br />You have not yet met with me <br />By the pond, or by our tree, <br />Though the season has turned late, <br />We have not yet had a date. <br /> <br />Winter’s cold will soon arrive <br />Fields will freeze with frost, so bitter. <br />In the smoky shack, a light, <br />Soon enough, will shine and glitter. <br />I won't see my love, - I'll rage <br />Like a finch, inside a cage, <br />And at home, depressed and dazed, <br />I’ll recall Natasha's grace.<br /><br />Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-natasha-2/
