'It's fine here: the rustle and crackle;' by Anna Akhmatova

 It's fine here: the rustle and crackle;

A hard frost every day,
On the bush bowed with white fire,
Icy, dazzling roses.
And on the formal magnificent snow
Tracks of skis, like memories,
Of how, in some far-off century,
You and I were here, together.