In the hours of fun il idle boredom…

In the hours of fun il idle boredom,
Used to, I have my lyre
Entrusting effeminate sounds
Madness, laziness and passion.

But even then the strings sly
I could not help ringing interrupted,
When your voice is majestic
I was suddenly hit.

I poured a flood of tears unexpected,
And the wounds of my conscience
Your speeches fragrant
Gratifying net was firs.

And now with heights of spiritual
By stretching my hand you,
And the power of gentle and loving
Humbles wild dreams.

Your soul is the burning fire
He rejected the darkness of earthly vanities,
And heed harp seraph
The sacred horror poet.

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Alexander Pushkin
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