Memory

When the death silenced a noisy day,
And dumb Stogniy hail
Nalyazhet translucent shadow of the night
And dream, day's work award,
While eke in silence for me

Hours of anxious vigil:
At idle the night come on burning in me
Snakes heart pangs;
dreams seethe; in the mind, suppressed anguish,
Closely grievous doom excess;
Silent remembrance before me
Develops his long scroll;
And with disgust reading my life,
I tremble and curse,
And bitterly complaining, and pour bitter tears,
But the saddest lines do not wash off.

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Alexander Pushkin
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