I shall soon fall prey to rot.
Though it's hard to die, it's good to die;
I shall ask for no one's pity,
And there's no one who would pity me.
With my lyre I won no glory
For my noble family name;
And I die as distant from my people
As the day that I began to live.
Ties of friendship, unions of the heart —
All are broken: from my youth,
Fate has sent me foes implacable,
While my friends all perished in the struggle.
Their prophetic songs were left unfinished,
They fell victim to misfortune, were betrayed
In the bloom of life; and now their portraits watch me
From the walls, reproachfully.
Скоро стану добычею тленья.
Тяжело умирать, хорошо умереть;
Ничьего не прошу сожаленья,
Да и некому будет жалеть.
Я дворянскому нашему роду
Блеска лирой своей не стяжал;
Я настолько же чуждым народу
Умираю, как жить начинал.
Узы дружбы, союзов сердечных —
Всё порвалось: мне с детства судьба
Посылала врагов долговечных,
А друзей уносила борьба.
Песни вещие их не допеты,
Пали жертвою злобы, измен
В цвете лет; на меня их портреты
Укоризненно смотрят со стен.
«My dear, one and only land! / Autumn rain from а tin sky drips. / In а puddle а shivering lamp / Reflects а head with no lips. Better don't look! Or something worse / May е, take me by surprise come / So all this rust-coloured murk / I view through screwed-up eyes. It's warmer tha...»
«The lives of us all are moulded / At birth — such is my belief. / I well might, if not а poet, / Have been а rogue or а thief. А thin little boy, but ever / А hero in the eyes of those / Young playmates of mine, I' d often / Come home with а bleeding nose. In а thick voice I'd...»
«Self-deception is not in my nature, / On my heart there weighs а thought appalling: / How come I have earned the reputation / Of а charlatan, а tavern-brawler? I’m no thug, I've not stopped folk and stripped them, / Shot wretches in jail or other places. / I’m а rake, the kind you...»
«It's settled! Yes, it is forever / I have left my native fields. / Never more shall rustling poplars / Shed on me their winged leaves. I'll not watch the old home crumbing. / My old dog died long ago. / In the winding streets of Moscow / I'll die — since God wills it so. I love this...»