As once in summer's time of beauty,
On bended knee, before his door,
To God he paid his duty,
The woods grew more and more obscure:
Down o'er the lake a fog descended,
And slow the full moon, red as blood,
Midst threat'ning clouds up heaven wended--
Then gazed the Monk upon the flood.
On bended knee, before his door,
To God he paid his duty,
The woods grew more and more obscure:
Down o'er the lake a fog descended,
And slow the full moon, red as blood,
Midst threat'ning clouds up heaven wended--
Then gazed the Monk upon the flood.
Pushkin - Talisman
