Alexander Pushkin
The Window

In recent days when shade has tarried,
When silver crescent of the waste
Along the misty paths is carried,
I saw at window maiden chaste
Alone and deep in thought appearing,
Her heaving bosom wracked with fear,
Who anxiously was always peering
At darkened paths beneath hills sheer.

“I’m here!” — did hasty whisper quiver
And maiden with a trembling hand
Now opened window with a shiver…
The moon shrank back behind dark’s band.
“You lucky cad!” I uttered sadly —
What joy awaits inside for thee.
Will evening come when I can glad be,
When window’s opened just for me?”

Translated by Rupert Moreton