Aleksandr Pushkin

Let him, who's crowned by the love of charming girls,
Save their features in the sacred golden folds,
And secret letters - grants of long-time passion;
But in the hour of bitter separation,
Nothing returns to heart its former warmth and light,
And not a single gift, that's sent by my sweetheart --
The holy pledge of love, delight of gentle sadness --
Could heal the wounds of love -- of helplessness and madness.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 1999
Edited by Dmitry Karshtedt, August, 2000