Evgeny Baratynsky

A bard’s sweet song mends ailing constitution.
The harmony’s ever-mysterious reign
Will compensate the cumbersome illusion 
And curb the sense that’s passionate and strained.
The poet’s soul, in a verse poured out,
Will be released from all her heavy pines;
And holy poetry will give the world around
And all its purity – to its girlfriend, at once.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, January, 2001