By Delvig (beatific, who from a young age he saw before him)

beatific, who from a young age he saw before him
Dark twists dvuholmnoy height,
Who lives in a secret way with an innocent soul
Let the prisoner of dreams!
Breastplate gods obscurity storm evil,
Above him their fishing, sometimes silently
His lull Kameny young
And with the finger on the lips of the singer kept quiet.
Bashful Grace hears he tips
AND, feeling chest fire still Mlada,
Enthusiastic singing in the lyre of gold.
About Delvig! happy poets!

a friend of mine, and I am a singer! and my humble path
The goddess of flowers decorated chants,
And my chest Mladen gods
Influenced by the flame of inspiration.
In my infancy I could feel,
All round the life of me breathing,
All high-spirited mind obvorozhalo.
And the first line, I quickly went.
With some kind of quiet beauty
Minutes elapsed childhood;
thank you, Oh Gods! you, you mighty hand
By ardent thunderstorms worldly innocence taken.
But everything went - and disappeared into the dark distance
freedom, joy, admiration;
Another youth and Enjoyment:
She told me the grim sadness!
So early envy see SPAR bloody
And vile slander in the darkness hidden poison.
Not, not! nor happiness, no glory
I will not be blinded. Let them beckon
On the edge of destruction favorites seduction.
Disappeared the sacred fire!
Oblivion sweet gift song
And the voice of strings animate!
The dust and the lyre and a crown!
Let them do not know, what was once a singer,
Vrazhdoyu, enviously at the victim doomed,
He died on the morning of years.
How early in the meadow color,
Oblique prematurely struck down.
And quietly live in obscurity silence;
Progeny threatening not remember me,
And grave accident, Desert grim, wilderness,
Porastet oblivion creeping dodder!

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Alexander Pushkin
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