Aleksandr Pushkin

In days, when all earthly impressions
Where utter novelty for me –
And looks of maids and noise of groves,
And nightingale’s                   plea, –
When highly elevated senses,
The love, the liberty, the pride
And arts’                      fancies
Such strongly aggravated blood –
Having filled time of bliss and hopes
With sudden bitterness of pine,
Some genius of the evil scopes
Began invade a realm of mine.
Our meetings were all sad and secret, dismel
His smile and ever charming look,  
His speeches’ endless evil ringlet,
Poured poison in my soul’s brook. 


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, March 30, 2002