bookseller.
Poems for you one fun,
A little once you sit down,
Already I managed to disclose the glory
Everywhere Pleasant news:
Poem, say, ready,
The fruit of the new mental ploys.
so, you decide: I'm waiting for word:
Assign yourself the price it.
Poems favorite muses and Graces
We instantly replace rubles
And a bunch of cash banknotes
Leaves your turn ...
What we sighed so deeply?
Do not know eh lzya?
Poet.
I was far away:
I am mindful of the time,
When, hopes rich,
poet careless, I wrote
of inspiration, not from the board.
I saw once again shelters rocks
And the dark shelter of solitude,
Where am I on the feast of imagination,
used to, muse called.
There is sweeter than my voice:
There's share bright vision,
With inexplicable beauty,
curling, They flew me
In the hours of the night inspiration!..
All care gentle mind:
Flowering meadow, the shining of the moon,
In the chapel dilapidated storm noise,
The old woman a wonderful devotion.
What demon possessed
my games, leisure;
Me everywhere he flew,
I whispered sounds wonderful,
And heavy, fiery disease
My head was full of;
In her wonderful dreams were born;
The slender size flocked
My obedient words
And sounding rhyme became isolated.
The harmony of my rival
There was a noise of forests, il violent whirlwind,
Ile Orioles tune alive,
Or the sea at night hum deaf,
Or the whisper of the river tihostruynoy.
’, silent works,
Share I was not ready
With a crowd of ardent enthusiasm,
And muse sweet gifts
Ne unijal postydnym torgom;
I was the guardian of their stingy:
Sure, pride dumb,
From vzorov black hype
Lover gifts Mlada
Stores lover superstitious.
bookseller.
But thank you replaced
Dreams secret consolation:
You went to the hands.
Meanwhile, as the dust masses
Stale prose and poetry
Currently waiting in vain reciters
And windy it awards.
Poet.
beatific, who concealed himself
Enhancement high creatures of
And from the people, both of the graves,
Not waiting for the feeling of retribution!
beatific, who was a poet in silence
AND, blackthorn glory not twined,
Despicable ink forgotten,
Unnamed left light!
Deceptive and dreams of hope,
that the glory? shopot you chtetsa?
Gonen l low ignorant?
Ile admiration fool?
bookseller.
Lord Byron was of the same opinion;
Zhukovsky is told;
But the light has learned and snatched
They are the sweet creations.
And vpryam, enviable your udel:
poet executes, poet crowned;
Villains eternal thunder booms
The offspring of further strikes;
Heroes comforting it;
With Corinne kiferskoy on the throne
His mistress lifts.
Praise to you tiresome ringing;
But the heart of Fame of Women invites:
For them, write; their ears
Pleasant flattery Anacreon:
In Mlada summer roses us
Expensive laurels Helicon.
Poet.
proud dreams,
Mad joy of youth!
And I, amid the storms of life noisy
I seek attention beauty.
Eyes pretty read
Me with a smile of love:
Mouth whispered magic
Me my sweet sounds ...
but full! sacrificed their freedom
Dreamer I do not bring;
Let the young man sings of.
Dear darling of nature.
What do I have to? Now in the wilderness
Silently my life rushes;
Ston lira true touches
their light, vetrenoy people:
Not merely in their imagination:
We do not understand it,
AND, god's sign, inspiration
For them, and alien and funny.
When I recall unwittingly
Come verse inculcated them,
I still break out, heart pain:
I am ashamed of my idols.
For what, unhappy, I sought?
Before anyone had humiliated the proud mind?
Who delight of pure doom
Worship is not ashamed?…
bookseller.
I love your anger. This is the poet!
The cause of your grief
I do not know lzya: but exceptions
For lovely ladies Shall there?
Shall not one worth
neither inspiration, no passions,
And your songs do not assign
All-powerful beauty of its?
you are silent?
Poet.
why poet
Disturbed sleep heavy heart?
Fruitlessly memory torments he.
And what? cares light?
I am a stranger to all!.. my soul
Does the image of stores unforgettable?
Love happiness I knew?
Melancholy Mademoiselle long weary,
I conceal the tears in silence?
Where she was, whose eyes,
As the sky, smiled at me?
Entire life, whether one, two you nochi?.
……………………………
And what? Tiresome moan of love,
My words seem
Wild babbling madman.
There, their heart understand one,
And then with a sad shudder:
Fate so decided.
Brother, the idea of the soul zavyaloy
Could revive youth
And the poetry of dreams Experienced
Crowd again anger!..
It went without saying one to
obscure my poems;
One would be flaming heart
Lampadoy pure love!
Alas, the vain desires!
She rejected incantations,
pleas, anguish of my soul:
Earthly delights outpouring,
as a god, not need it!..
bookseller.
so, love weary,
Bored babble rumors,
You refused to advance
From your lyre inspired.
Now, Leaving the noisy light,
And Moose, windy and fashion,
Well you elect?
Poet.
freedom.
bookseller.
Perfectly. That's the same advice;
Heed Truth helpful:
Our century - torgaš; in this Iron Age
Without money, no freedom.
Slava? - Bright salary
On dilapidated tatters singer.
We need to Zlata, gold, gold:
Accumulate gold before the end of!
I foresee your objection;
But I know you, gentlemen:
You your expensive's creation,
Until the Labor flame
boils, seething imagination;
it hardens, and then
You fasted and writings.
Let me just tell you:
Not for Sale inspiration,
But you can sell a manuscript.
Well delay? so come to me
impatient readers;
Around the shop journalists roam,
They were skinny singers:
Who is asking for food for satire,
Who for the soul, who for the pen;
And I confess - on your lyre
Predvizhu her very good.
Poet.
You are absolutely right. Here's my manuscript.
agree to.
