Two Folk-songs of Little Russia

Blow, thou wintry wind!

Thy mighty blasts the trees are swaying;

Though my heart with grief is bursting,

Tears of sorrow I am staying.

See the hut of my good neighbor,

All the luck is in his favor,

And his wife is gay and lovely;

I have no one near to love me!

See, my neighbor now is sowing,

And his garden will be growing;

I have not had time for sowing,

And my garden won't be growing!

Blow, thou wintry wind!...