Days Rain Is Done
Day's rain is done.
The rainy mist of
Spreads on the sky, leaden apparel wearing,
And through the pine-trees, like a ghost appearing, The moon comes up with hidden light.
All in my soul drags me to dark surrender.
There, far away, rises the moon in splendour.
There all the air is drunk with evening heat,
There move the waters in a sumptuous heat, And overhead the azure skies...
It is the hour.
From high hills she has
To sea-shores flooding in the waves' loud cries; There, where the holy cliffs arise,
Now she sits melancholy and alone...
Alone...
Before her none is weeping, fretting,
None, on his knees, is kissing her, forgetting;
Alone...
To no one's lips is she
Her shoulders, her wet lips, her snow-white bosom.
No one is worthy of her heavenly love.'Tis true?...
Alone...
You weep...
I do not move.
Yet if...
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Other author posts
Night
My voice, to which love lends a tenderness and yearing, Disturbs night's dreamy calm Pale at my bedside burning, A taper wastes away
The Memorial
Beyond compare the monument I have erected, And to this spirit column well-worn the people's path,--Its head defiant will out-soar that famous pillar The Emperor Alexander hath I shall not vanish wholly,--No but young
Night Piece
I can't sleep, and there's no light, Mirk all round and restless slumber, Tickings near me without number, Monotonous clock measuring night O you Fates with old wives' chatter, Sleepy night so softly swaying, Life with mouselike pit...
I Loved You
I loved you: yet the love, maybe, Has not extinguished in my heart; But hence may not it trouble thee; I do not want to make you sad