Читать книгу Евгений Онегин / Eugene Onegin - Александр Сергеевич Пушкин, Александр Пушкин, Pushkin Aleksandr - Страница 64

Where is Onegin? Half asleep,

From ball to bed he’s moved by carriage.

St. Petersburg does never sleep,

The drums are beating waking soldiers.

A merchant wakes, a pedlar walks,

A cab to stand is pulled by horse,

A dairymaid delivers milk,

Under her feet the snow makes squeak.

The morning noise refreshes air.

They open blinds; smoke by columns

Ascends upwards from burning ovens,

A baker – German, clean and fair,

In paper cap, exclaimed not once

His crackling language’s was ist das.