The Winter and the Spring by Feodor  Tyutchev

Winter is angry for a reason,

Her time has passed forward:

Spring is knocking on the  casement

And driving her out of the yard.

And everything  started fussing about,

Everything is proscribing winter aside in,

And the larks in the blue sky now

Have already raised their  scream.

Winter is still go fussing

And grumbling at young Spring.

But it laughs in winter face

And only makes more roaring.

The wicked witch flew into a rage,

And, snatching up some snow,

It hurled it—as it out fled—

At the beautiful child brow.

But Spring can not care less.

It washed herself in the snow dust

And only itself became rosieress

In defiance of the enemy. malice.