Текст песни Алябьев - Зимняя дорога

Through wavy fogs
The moon wades,
On the sad meadows
She pours sadly light it.
On the way to winter, boring
The troika of the greyhound runs,
Bells are monotonous
Tremblingly thundering.
Something is heard native
In the long songs of the coachman:
That is an outrageous thing,
That heartfelt melancholy ...
No fire, no black hut,
Winters and snow ... Meeting me
Only the miles are striped
There are only one ...
Boring, sad ... Tomorrow, Nina,
Tomorrow to the cute coming back,
I'll forget by the fire,
I'll look not looking.