The little hare by Aleksandr Blokk

In the damp lost hollow,

For the little hard grey

White blossoms once

Delighted his eyes…

In autumn, the thin blades of grass

began to cry instead of

Because its paws tread

Upon yellow leaves.

Gloomyly, rainyly, inclement

Autumn has arrived here.

All the cabbage is harvested—

There is nothing to steal there

The poor whet hare hops up

Near the wet pines tall,

Dreading the sharp teeth’s  white

It thinks of come summer,

Presses back his ears thin

Glances at the sky with hope

But the sky is hidden and not ever seen

If only it were a bit warmer,

If only it were a few drier…

They are so unpleasant sensations

To step through the water shoeless

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