1 min read
Слушать(AI)The Night
My voice that is for you the languid one, and gentle,
Disturbs the velvet of the dark night's mantle,
By my bedside, a candle, my sad guard,
Burns, and my poems ripple and merge in flood —And run the streams of love, run, full of you alone,
And in the dark, your eyes shine like the precious stones,
And smile to me, and hear I the voice:
My friend, my sweetest friend… I love… I'm yours… I'm yours!
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin was a Russian poet, playwright, and novelist of the Romantic era who is considered by many to be the greatest Russ
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Dream
Not long ago, in a charming dream, I saw myself — a king with crown's treasure; I was in love with you, it seemed, And heart was beating with a pleasure
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
The Name
What is my name to you 'T will die: a wave that has but rolled to reach with a lone splash a distant beach; or in the timbered night a cry… 'T will leave a lifeless trace among names on your tablets: the design of an entangled gravestone line...
The Talisman
Where the sea forever Over lonely cliff and dune, Where sweet twilight's vapor In a warmer-glowing moon,