Aleksandr Pushkin

Extinguished gaiety of years, which sunk in madness,
Presses on me like a hangover restless.
But in my soul, foregoing pine
Becomes through time still stronger, like a wine.
My way is sad. Predicts me toile and woe –
The sea of future in a wrath and row.

But, oh, my friends, I do not want to die;
I want to live for reasoning and trial;
I know, it will come – my satisfaction
Amidst the troubles, grieves and agitation:
Sometimes I’ll sink in harmony again,
Or wet my thought with tears of joy and pain.
And maybe, else, to my nightfall, in darkness
Will love smile farewell with her former brightness.

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 2001