Down the fluffy hill, the sun in sled is gliding,
A light mist veils the trees in soft embrace…
A February day in frames of icy grace,
On the willows, silver lace is softly spun.

And gently down the *****, gray houses’ shadows slide…
It is all one, in winter’s soft white embrace,
White smoke ascends, with subtle grayish tints above…
And the river beneath is a ribbon of blackish braid.

The pale heights of the sky merged with the mountain’s edge,
No horizon in sight — all fades into mist...
The silence above leaned over me like a kind mother,
And I gaze… and inhale the intoxicating bliss!