About pity on me,
comrades, friends!
beauty Delete
In the end I was exhausted.

Hourly I miss,
Bitter my destiny,
Carry circular railway,
Open cellars.

There, there is stored in ice
Bottles proud system,
And Porter lurks
a barrel Discharge.

we Lieber, stuttering,
To him will show the way, —
Come all, reeling,
Under barrels sleep!

They consolation heart,
Award for singers,
And the pangs of love oblivion,
And the heat of my poems.

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Alexander Pushkin
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