1 min read
Слушать(AI)May 26 1828
Gift haphazard, unavailing,
Life, why were thou given me?
Why art thou to death
Sentenced by dark destiny?
Who in harsh despotic
Once from Nothing called me out,
Filled my soul with burning
Vexed and shook my mind with doubt?
I can see no goal before me;
Empty heart and idle mind.
Life monotonously o'er
Roars, and leaves a wound behind.
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
Winter Evening
The storm wind covers the Whirling the fleecy snow drifts, Now it howls like a wolf, Now it is crying, like a lost child,
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
The Prophet
Longing for spiritual springs, I dragged myself through desert sands…An angel with three pairs of Arrived to me at cross of lands; With fingers so light and
The Singer
Did you attend He sang by grove ripe - The bard of love, the singer of his mourning When fields were silent by the early morning, To sad and simple sounds of a pipe Did you attend