The forests and meadows
And rivers of Russia
Are lovely in springtime,
But O you spring cornfields,
Your growth thin and scanty
Is painful to see.

"'Twas not without meaning 20
That daily the snow fell
Throughout the long winter,"
Said one to another
The journeying peasants:--
"The spring has now come
And the snow tells its story:
At first it is silent--
'Tis silent in falling,
Lies silently sleeping,
But when it is dying 30
Its voice is uplifted:
The fields are all covered
With loud, rushing waters,
No roads can be traversed
For bringing manure
To the aid of the cornfields;
The season is late
For the sweet month of May
Is already approaching."
The peasant is saddened 40
At sight of the dirty
And squalid old village;