By Natasha

wither, Summer fades red;
Fly clear days;
Rainy mist creeps
Night dozing in the shade;
Empty cereal fields,
Coldness trickle playful;
Forest curly hair turned gray;
Vault of heaven pale.

World-Natasha! where are you now?
That no one sees you not?
Or you do not want a single hour
With a friend of the heart divide?
Neither the lake undulate,
Not under the roof lip dušistym
Early - sometimes late
I do not meet with you.

soon, Soon the cold Winter
grove, field visit;
Light in the smoky hovel
Soon bright gleams;
I shall not see the lovely
AND, as a finch in a cage close,
Houses will grieve
And remember Natasha.

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Alexander Pushkin
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