I built myself a monument, eternal and miraculous,
It's higher than the Pyramids, than metal it is harder;
Swift winds and thunder cannot knock it down
The flight of time cannot demolish it.
Thus I won't really die! The part of me that's largest
Will baffle death, and will escape decay,
My fame will grow, and never wither,
As long as Slavs are honored in this world.
And word of me shall spread from the White Sea to the Black,
Where Volga, Don, Neva and Ural rivers flow,
Each member of the countless tribes will know
How from obscurity I found my way to fame,
By daring first in lively Russian speech
To celebrate the virtues of Felitsa,
To talk of God with intimate simplicity,
And with a smile announce the truth to kings.
O Muse! take pride in your well-earned rewards,
Disdain all those who show disdain for you,
And with an easy and unhurried hand,
With dawn eternal crown your brow.
Я памятник себе воздвиг чудесный, вечный,
Металлов тверже он и выше пирамид;
Ни вихрь его, ни гром не сломит быстротечный,
И времени полет его не сокрушит.
Так! — весь я не умру, но часть меня большая,
От тлена убежав, по смерти станет жить,
И слава возрастёт моя, не увядая,
Доколь славянов род вселенна будет чтить.
Слух пройдет обо мне от Белых вод до Чёрных,
Где Волга, Дон, Нева, с Рифея льет Урал;
Всяк будет помнить то в народах неисчётных,
Как из безвестности я тем известен стал,
Что первый я дерзнул в забавном русском слоге
О добродетелях Фелицы возгласить,
В сердечной простоте беседовать о Боге
И истину царям с улыбкой говорить.
О Муза! возгордись заслугой справедливой,
И презрит кто тебя, сама тех презирай;
Непринуждённою рукой неторопливой
Чело твоё зарёй бессмертия венчай.
«Your pensive sigh is calling me / To warm light, to my native threshold / / Where grandmother and grandfather sit on the porch / Awaiting their spirited sunflower-aged grandson. / / Their grandson is slim and white as a birch, / With honey hair and velvet hands. / / Except, o my...»
«Here it is, silly happiness / With white windows that look into the garden. / The sunset quietly swims / In the pond like a red swan. / / Hello, golden quiet / With your shadow of a birch in the water. / A flock of crows on the roof / Holds vespers for a star. / / Somewhere pas...»
«Country, o my country! / Autumnal rainy tin. / The shivering streetlight reflects / Its lipless head in a black puddle. / / No, it’s best not to look, / Or else I’ll see something worse. / I’ll just keep squinting my eyes / At all this rusted haze. / / It’s warmer this ...»
«Don’t torment me with your icy demeanor / And don’t ask me how old I am. / I’ve got a severe falling sickness; / My soul is a yellow skeleton. / / There was a time when, hailing from outskirts, / In a smoke of my boyish dreams, / I imagined riches and fame, / And being loved b...»