I have witnessed your golden spring;
Then vain mind, Art does not need,
And beauty itself is seventeen years old.
But as time elapsed, it was the change,
You are approaching the dubious pore,
As fewer suitors crowded the yard,
And the quieter the sound of praise your ear obvorozhaet,
A mirror of severe thunderstorms and frightening.
What comforting and humble yourself,
From the lovely former rights in advance give up,
Look for other victories - the success before thee,
I wish you happiness with all my soul,
and my experiences,
My didactic, wise verse.
