Autumn. (excerpt)

What then dormant in my mind is not included?


October has arrived - it's Grove otryahaet
Recent sheets with their naked branches;
He breathed the autumn coldness - the road freezes.
Murmuring still running for the mill creek,
But the pond has frozen; taketh my neighbor
In the outlying fields with hunting his,
And strazhdut winter wheat from the frenzied fun,
And dogs barking wakes slumbering oaks.


Now it's my time to: I do not love spring;
Boring me thaw; stink, dirt - in the spring I'm sick;
blood wanders; the senses, mind anguish constrained.
Harsh winter I'm more pleased with,
I love it snow; in the presence of the moon
How easy run sled with a friend is quick and free,
When a sable, warmed and fresh,
She shakes hands with you, blazing, and shaking!


So funny, foo sharpens iron legs,
Slide on the stationary mirror, flat river!
A winter holiday shiny alarm?…
But you have to know and honor; six months, snow and snow,
It's finally and resident den,
bear bored. It is impossible for a century
Ride in a sleigh with us Armida Mladen,
Or turn sour in furnaces for glass double.


Oh, summer red! I would have loved you,
Had it not been heat, yes dust, yes mosquitoes, to fly.
You, all mental abilities ruining,
we afflicted; as a field, we strazhdem drought;
Just like water, Yes refresh yourself -
Sometimes there is no thought in us, and sorry for the old woman's winter,
AND, seeing her pancakes and wine,
We create a wake her ice cream and ice.


The days of late autumn usually scold,
But I like it sweet, dear reader,
quiet beauty, shining humbly.
So unloved child in the family home
By itself leads me. To tell you frankly,
Of annual time I'm glad it alone,
There's a lot of good; lover not a vain,
I found something in her dream wayward.


How to explain? I like her,
How, probably, you consumptive maiden
At times like. Sentenced to death,
Bednyazhka klonitsya without murmurings, without anger.
The smile on his lips uvyanuvshih visible;
The grave of the abyss she does not hear the throat;
Playing on his face is still crimson.
She is still alive today, gone tomorrow.


sad it is time! charm the eyes!
Pryyatna proschalnaya me your beauty -
I love the lavish withering of nature,
The crimson and gold-clad forests,
In their passage wind noise and fresh breath,
And wavy mist covered the heavens,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And the distant gray winter threat.


And every autumn, I bloom again;
My health is useful Russian cold;
To the habit of being re-feel the love:
Kill flies sleep, Death by hunger;
Easily and happily plays in the heart blood,
Desires boil - I'm happy again, young,
I am again full of life - this is my body
(Kindly forgive me unnecessary prosaism).


Lead a horse to me; in the open expanse,
waving mane, he carries a rider,
And loudly under his shining hoof
Rings frozen dol, and cracked ice.
But extinguished a short day, and fireside forgotten
Fire burns again - that bright light Liet,
It smoulders slowly - and I read before him,
Or a thought in my mind long cherish.


And forget the world - in the sweet silence
I'm sweetly lulled by my imagination,
And poetry is awakened in me:
Soul shy lyrical waves see,
Trembles and sounds, and looking for, like in a dream,
Finally pour out free expression -
And then to me is invisible swarm of guests,
old acquaintances, the fruit of my dreams.


And the thoughts in my head waves in courage,
And rhyme easy to meet them run,
And fingers being asked to pen, pen to paper,
Minute - and poetry will flow freely.
So dozing motionless ship motionless moisture,
but chu! - sailors suddenly rush, creep
Up, down - and sails billow, full of wind;
Hromada moved and cuts the waves.


floats. Where do we go?…


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Alexander Pushkin
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