The blizzard buried the hedge, Behind the window the snow still falls While on the warm stove ledge An old man his youth recalls. "Eh, there were good seasons In my life - nothing went wrong, I had no worries, but the reasons To carouse and sing the songs, And now what life do I have? I'm worried, and it's madness But at the times I remember Those old days with sadness; I had a long life (in my appendage) I used it well to (...) Even at my old age, The freedom to say it I lack. Don't full me old knave You are full of (...) Your life is at the grave Your end isn't fit. And so what, I submit, it's true, It looks like my fate, But their time will come too, Old age does emasculate;" Behind the window, at the gates Blizzard blew the snow in a heap And on the warm stove ledge The old man sadly fell asleep.