Mikhail Lermontov
The Sail

The lonely sail is showing white
Among the haze of the blue sea!..
What does it search in foreign part?
What left it in the native land?..

The waves are playing, wind is whistling,
And bending mast is creaking loud,
Alas, — it does not hunt for pleasure
And nor from pleasure does it run!

Below — a bright stream of azure,
Above — a golden beam of sun,
But it, rebellious, asks for tempests
As if the tempests give a rest!

Translated by D. Smirnov-Sadovsky