Ivan Bunin — Youth

A whip cracks in the wood, and cattle low

And through the underbrush are heard to

Crash heavily. Leaves rustle. Snowdrops show

Their blue heads here and there. A sudden, furtive

Wind starts to blow, and ashen clouds are swept

Across the skies, a cool, fresh rain presaging…

The heart grieves and is glad that life is, strangely,

Vast like the steppe and empty like the steppe.

Translated by Irina Zheleznova