Alexander Pushkin


It’s the last time, when I dare To cradle your image in my mind, To wake a dream by my heart, bare, With exultation, shy and air, To cue your love that's left behind. The years run promptly; their fire Changes the world, and me, and you. For me, you now are attired In dark of vaults o’er them who died, For you -- your friend extinguished too. My dear friend, so sweet and distant, Take farewell from all my heart, As takes a wid in a somber instant, As takes a friend before a prison Will split those dear friends apart. Translated by Yevgeny Bonver

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