'It's fine here: the rustle and crackle;'

by Anna Akhmatova

It's fine here: the rustle and crackle;
A hard frost every day,
On the bush bowed with white fire,
Icy, dazzling roses.
And on the formal magnificent snow
Tracks of skis, like memories,
Of how, in some far-off century,
You and I were here, together.

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