Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

If I walk the noisy streets,
Or enter a many thronged church,
Or sit among the wild young generation,
I give way to my thoughts

Where the sea forever
Over lonely cliff and dune,
Where sweet twilight's vapor
In a warmer-glowing moon,

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

I still recall the wondrous
When you appeared before my eyes,
Just like a fleeting apparition,
Just like pure beauty's distillation

She substituted, by a chance,
For empty "you" — the gentle "thou";
And all my happy dreams, at once,
In loving heart again resound

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

I watch Inesilla  Thy window beneath,
Deep slumbers the villa  In night's dusky sheath
Enamoured I linger,  Close mantled, for thee--With sword and with guitar,  O look once on me
Art sleeping

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

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

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

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...

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