The fall that year was in no hurry, And nature seemed to wait and wait For winter. Then, in January, The second night, the snow fell late. Next day as dawn was just advancing, Tatyana woke and, idly glancing, Beheld outdoors a wondrous sight: The roofs, the yard, the fence—all white; Each pane a fragile pattern showing; The trees in winter silver dyed, Gay magpies on the lawn outside, And all the hilltops soft and glowing With winter’s brilliant rug of snow— The world all fresh and white below.
