Page:Poems, Alexander Pushkin, 1888.djvu/98

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Poems: Narrative.

The children sleep; the mother slumbers.
On the oven husband lies.
Howls the storm; a sudden knocking
He hears of some one at the window.

"Who's there?"—"Ope the door I say!"
"Time eno'; what is the matter?
Wherefore comes tramp at night?
By the devil art hither brought!
Wherefore with you should I bother?
Crowded my house and dark is."
So saying, he with lazy hand
Open throws the window.

Rolls the moon from behind the clouds—
And now? A naked man before him stands;
From his beard a stream is flowing
His glance is fixed, and is open.
All about him is frightful dumbness
And his hands are dropped down;
And to the puffed-out, swollen body
Black crabs are fastened.

The peasant quickly shuts the window;
He recognized his naked guest,
Is terror-struck. "May you burst!"

Out he whispered and trembled.