By Shishkov

Saluna, crowned Erato and Venus,
You're my only weapon manish prisoner in his possession,
The estate of peace between Pinda and Citer,
Where I luxuriated Chaulieu from Mielec and Boys?
You, pampered pet Apollo,
They agree by singing a playful flute:
Fun frisky and nymphs Helikon
Your happy Rocks the Cradle.
And now, beautiful in her youth,
With you correct your soputnitsy.
clank, the Troubadour, harp voluptuous
Early dreams of love,
Sing young heart boiling Desire,
Beauty your perseverance, flutter,
With chest torn envious cover,
Modesty latest Murmurs
And passion celebration on a bed of flowers, —
sing. The tender intently at a virgin languid eyes.
Her magical beauty,
Lost nights in the arms of love
Bliss fast clock ...
a friend of mine, She's yours, she is your reward.
Mysterious love priceless joy!
L dare you I sing,
When suffering crushes me,
When each mechtane
black gloom puts his seal.
Not, not! Friends love the soul uncovered,
In the silence of feeling, be captivated by beauty -
That's my lot: I am ready to follow him,
Pokorstvuyu fates, but have pity on me,
Do not ask me poems.
Not forever bask in the lovely Blinded,
Oh hladnoy true tiresome see the light.
The goodness of my heart I believe in the rapture
Sorceress-Dream, shepnuvshey: you are a poet, —
AND, despise wisdom and advice threat,
With careless ease threading couplets,
Toys amused himself innocent;
saint Bacchus, with gay friends
Sometimes the wine sang poems water,
The bad verses bad writers scolded,
Ile Friendship wove a wreath - fellowship and yawns
And carotid verses vprosonkah dignify,
And even, - I repent, - the hermit has sinned, —
I first sang love innocent beginning,
But so mysterious, with the analysis of the words,
With such modesty shy,
Что, without blushing timidly,
I have listened to, and to the virgin<озлов>.
But fled from me Parnassian fun!..
Not long, I was put to sleep,
Not long I dreamed of dream Moose and Glory:
I am a strict experience involuntarily aroused.
Asleep between roses, I woke up at Terni,
Had seen, what else is not a genius seal -
Hunting death on babbling rhymes.
Comparing your poems with my, smiled -
And for me to write full.

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Alexander Pushkin
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