Sung and/or spoken by Kubarikha.... Part 12, the Frosted Rowan, of Doctor Zhivago.
  A little hare was running over the white world,  
  Over the white world, aye, over the white snow.  
  He ran, little flop-ears, past a rowan tree,  
  He ran, little flop-ears, and complained to the rowan.  
  Me, I'm a hare, and my heart's all timid,  
  My heart's all timid, it's so easily frightened.  
  I'm a hare and I'm scared of the wild beast's track,  
  Of the wild beast's track, of the hungry wolf's belly.  
  Have pity on me, rowan bush,  
  Rowan bush, beautiful rowan tree.  
  Don't give your beauty to the wicked enemy,  
  To the wicked enemy, to the wicked raven.  
  Strew your red berries in handfuls to the wind,  
  To the wind, over the white world, over the white snow,  
  Roll them, scatter them to the place I was born in,  
  To the last house there by the village gate,  
  To the last window there, aye, in the last room,  
  Where my little recluse has hidden away,  
  My dearest one, my longed-for one.  
  Speak into the ear of the one I long for  
  A hot word, an ardent word for me.  
  I languish in chains, a soldier-warrior,  
  I lose heart, a soldier, in this foreign land.  
  But I'll escape yet from this bitter bondage,  
  Escape to my berry, to my beautiful one.  
By Boris Pasternak (1957)
It's interesting to note that most of our knowledge of Doctor Zhivago
comes from its Italian translation of the original Russian
that was then re-translated into English.