poet

Poet! no more than with love of folk.
Enthusiastic praise minute pass noise;
When You Hear the Judgment of a Fool and laughter of the crowd cold,
But you stay strong, calm and ugryum.

you are the king: live one. Road svobodnoy
Go, which causes you a free mind,
Perfecting favorite fruit doom,
Requiring no awards for the noble deed.

They really you. You are your own supreme court;
All the more strictly evaluate you know how your work.
You be pleased with them, exacting artist?

pleased? So let the crowd scolded him
And spit on the altar, Where's your fire burns,
And in the children's playfulness shake your tripod.

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Alexander Pushkin
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