A Prince. M. Gorchakov

I met with the eighteenth spring.
Last time, may be, I'm with you,
Thoughtfully listening to the noise of Asherah,
Above the lake go hand in hand.
Where are you, summer carelessness recent?
With hope in the prime of his early years,
My dear friend, we enter into a new light;
But there is an inheritance appointed us not equal,
And agarose our leave in life after.
You wayward hand of fortune
Set the path and happy, and glorious, —
My path sad and dark;
And delicate beauty is given to you.
And like a brilliant gift of nature,
And a quick mind, and true, cute character;
You were created for sweet freedom,
for joy, for glory, for fun.
They came, your golden years,
Fire love lovely time to.
A Walk to Remember and, happy yesterday,
Today, once again happy to be carefully;
Cupid orders: and tomorrow, if I may,
Again myrtles beauty betroth them ...
ABOUT, How many tears, predvizhu, you culprit!
Treason friend and lover windy,
Be faithful to all - and captivates captivates.

But my destiny ... but overcast fog
Why should I hide the future?
Alas! I can not live forever deception
And the shadow of happiness, oblivious, hug.
All my life - sad darkness bad weather
Two or three spring, baby, may be,
I was happy, not realizing happiness;
they passed, but can l forget them?
they passed, and mournful eyes
Looking at the way, left forever, —
On the short path, strewn with flowers,
Which I have so much fun leaked,
I pour tears, I spend century in vain,
Painful burning desire.

Your dawn - the dawn of a beautiful spring;
and my, my friend, - autumn dawn.
I knew love, but I never knew of hope,
suffered one, silent love.
Insane, sleep left languid eyelids,
But the gloomy dreams I did not forget.
The soul is full of involuntary, sad Duma:
It seems to me: on life's feast
One sadly I will manifest myself, guest moody,
Will manifest myself to an hour - and will die alone.
And do not come one heart unforgettable
In the last moment of my languid eyes wink,
And do not come to the hill retreat
The last time with love to breathe!
Can it be true, my pass deserted Mladost?
Ile foreign to me happy love?
Can it be true die, not knowing, that joy?
Why is life given to me by the gods?
What do I have to wait? In the ranks of the forgotten warrior,
Among the crowd lost a singer,
What rewards I deserve in the future
And happiness which I will take the crown?

But what?.. ashamed of!.. Not, murmur - unizhenye.
Not, righteous gods Definitions!
Can it be true but I can not be in charge of clear days?
Not! and in tears of pleasure hidden,
And in this life, I will be consolation:
My humble gift and the happiness of friends.

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Alexander Pushkin
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