1 min read
Слушать(AI)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 ...
From out my heart there
Stift verses, streams of love, that hum and sing and merge.
And, full of you, rush on, with passion overflowing.
I seem to see your eyes that, in the darkness glowing,
Meet mine ...
I see your smile ...
You speak to me alone:
My friend, my dearest friend ...
I'm your's ... your own.
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
To Kern
I still recall the wondrous When you appeared before my eyes, Just like a fleeting apparition, Just like pure beauty's distillation
Remembrance
When the loud day for men who sow and Grows still, and on the silence of the The unsubstantial veils of night and sleep, The meed of the day's labour, settle down,
Solitude
He's blessed, who lives in peace, that's From the ignorant fobs with calls, Who can provide his every With dreams, or labors, or recalls;
Lyric written in 1830
What means my name to you …T'will As does the melancholy Of distant waves or, of a summer,
