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Aleksander Pushkin
Translated by Andrey Kneller
To ***
Don’t ask me why alone in dismal thought
In times of mirth, I’m often filled with strife,
And why my weary stare is so distraught,
And why I don’t enjoy the dream of life;
Don’t ask me why my soul has slowly perished
And ceased to love the love that pleased me then
No longer can I call someone —“my cherished”—
Who once has loved will never love again;
Who once felt bliss, no more will feel its essence,
A moment’s happiness is all that we receive:
From youth, prosperity and joyful pleasance
All that is left is apathy and grief…
I’ve lived to see desire vanish. . . .
I’ve lived to see desire vanish,
With hope I’ve slowly come to part,
And I am left with only anguish,
The fruit of emptiness at heart.
Under the storms of merciless fate,
My worn and withered garland lies—
In sadness, lonesome, I await:
How far away is my demise?
Thus, conquered by a tardy frost,
Through gale’s whistling and shimmer,
Late, on a naked limb exposed
A lonesome leaf is left to quiver
