By the hut, left by people and heaven,
Where the fence-s black remnants are steeping,
The ragged beggar and black old raven,
Were discussing the dreams of the sleeping.

The old bird, with commotion-s moans,
Was repeating in hot indecision,
That he had on the tower-s stones
The unusual, fabulous visions;

That in flight, full of valor and air,
He, who lost their usual sadness,
Was a swan, snow white, sweet and fair,
And the beggar - a prince of the greatness!

The ugly pauper was helplessly wailing.
Heavy night was descending and reigning.
The old woman, while passing the dwelling,
Was unceasingly crossing and praying.