we are born, my brother untitled,
Under the same star.
Kiprida, Phoebus and Bacchus rosy
Played nasheyu fate.

Yavilisya we are both early
racecourse, not on auction,
Vblyzy Derjavinsk grave,
And noisy greeted us with enthusiasm.

Izbalovalo us home.
And proud laziness
We both cared little
The fate of children walking.

Notes, son of Phoebus carefree,
His lofty undertakings
I do not betray the hand calculation
Assessment cunning shopkeepers.

Some magazines have criticized,
Reproaches the same we hear:
We love the glory? yes buccal
Flushing upheaval minds.

Your style and mighty winged
Some teases parodist,
And verse, hopes? rich,
Chew without teeth journalist.

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Alexander Pushkin
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