Alexander Pushkin
To A. P. Kern

I call to mind a moment’s glory.
You stood before me, face to face,
Like to a vision transitory,
A spirit of immaculate grace.

In hopeless torments of surrender,
In worldly tumult and alarm,
Your voice long echoed low and tender,
My dreams were of your face’s charm.

Years passed. Rude winds blew all asunder,
Scattered the dreams that once were mine,
And I forgot your voice so tender,
The features of your face divine.

To deserts and to darkness banished,
My days grew long with naught to do;
My God, my inspiration vanished,
My tears, my life, my love for you.

My soul awakened and uprisen,
Again I see you face to face,
Like to a transitory vision,
A spirit of immaculate grace.

My heart beats fast in exultation,
And all for it begins anew,
With God again, and inspiration,
And life, and tears, and love for you.

Translated by Cecil Maurice Bowra