Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

1,000 карма
United Kingdom (Great Britain)

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
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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
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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 yo...
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What's friendship
The hangover's faction,
The gratis talk of outrage,
Exchange by vanity, inaction,
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The Wish

I shed my tears; my tears – my consolation;
And I am silent; my murmur is dead,
My soul, sunk in a depression’s shade,
Hides in its depths the bitter exultation
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The Coming Of Winter

Stanzas from
Our Northern Winter's fickle Summer,
Than Southern Winter scarce more bland--Is undeniably
On fleeting footsteps from the land
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The Delibash

With the hostile camp in skirmish    Our men once were changing shot,
Pranced the Delibash his charger  'Fore our ranks of Cossacks hot
Trifle not with free-born Cossacks
Nor too o'er foolhardy be
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