Storm sky mist conceals,
Vortices snow spinning:
Then, as a beast, it howl,
the cry, like a child,
Then on the roof of a dilapidated
Suddenly a rustle in the straw,
Then, as a belated traveler,
We were out the window zastuchit.
Our old hovel
and sad, and dark.
What do you, my old lady,
Fell silent at the window?
Or howling storm
You, my friend, weary,
Or doze under the hum
its spindle?
Let's drink, good friend
Poor of my youth,
Let us drink from grief; where is the mug?
Heart will be happier.
Sing me a song, as a tit
Quiet for morem wires;
Sing me a song, as a maid
For morning water was.
Storm sky mist conceals,
Vortices snow spinning;
Then, as a beast, it howl.
the cry, like a child.
Let's drink, good friend
Poor of my youth,
Let us drink from grief; where is the mug?
Heart will be happier.
The translation of the poem is below standard.
The tone and the intention are missed.
You get the completely wrong impression.
Pushkin was an outstanding poet.