It's dark: he sits into the sledges,
"Go, go!" - is the driver's shout.
A hoar-frost as a silver stellar
Shines on the collar of fur-coat.
He rushed to Talon*, he is aware:
For him Kaverin's waiting there.
On entering: the fuse - to ceiling,
And wine as a comet flied up, streaming.
And there he sees the roast-beef,
The truffles - the luxury of youth -
The best of the cooking french, as truth,
The Strasbourgh's pie - an immortal meal,
Between the cheese of famous Limbourgh,
The golden pineapples between.
---
Talon is the famous restaurant
Е. Онегин, ч. 1, XVI - пер. А. С. Пушкина
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112022404877
Свидетельство о публикации №112022404877
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