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Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev - I Love The Tsarskoselsk
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I love the Tsarskoselsky Gardens
Late in the fall when, in soft haze
Enfolded, as in sleep`s embrace
They lie… The cold`s breath slowly hardens,
And on the dull glass of the lake,
Clad in that same fine haze, white-winged
And strangely languid visions linger
And seem bemused, but half-awake.

The skies are grey, by not a star lit…
The evening`s shadows onward press
And softly lick the steps dark scarlet
Of Catherine`s lofty palaces.
Then dark the gardens grow and dreamy,
The stars appear and turn a dome,
Outlined by them, into a gleam of
A golden past, its symbol lone…
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