Explore "The Old House" by Fyodor Sologub on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
At pale-rose dawn, when the merrily green, harmoniously white birches bend their wet branches before the windows, just beyond the little patch of sand by the round flowerbed; at pale-rose dawn -- when a fresh breeze comes blowing from the bathing pond -- then wakes Natasha, the first of the three.
What a joy it is to wake at dawn! To throw aside the cool cover of muslin, to rest upon the elbow, upon one's side, and to look out of the window with large, dark, sad eyes.