Just below my window
Stands a birch-tree white,
Under snow in winter
Gleaming silver bright.

On the fluffy branches
Sparkling in a row
Dangle pretty tassels
Of the purest snow.

There the birch in silence
Slumbers all day long
And the snow gleams brightly
In the golden sun.

And the dawn demurely
Going on its rounds
With a silver mantle
Decks again the boughs.

Sergey Yesenin, 1913