Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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