E-book: Alexander Pushkin - "Winter morning"

E-book: Alexander Pushkin -

Winter morning

Cold frost and sunshine: day of wonder!

But you, my friend, are still in slumber--

Wake up, my beauty, time belies:

You dormant eyes, I beg you, broaden

Toward the northerly Aurora,

As though a northern star arise!

Recall last night, the snow was whirling,

Across the sky, the haze was twirling,

The moon, as though a pale dye,

Emerged with yellow through faint clouds.

And there you sat, immersed in doubts,

And now, -- just take a look outside:

The snow below the bluish skies,

Like a majestic carpet lies,

And in the light of day it shimmers.

The woods are dusky. Through the frost

The greenish fir-trees are exposed;

And under ice, a river glitters.

The room is lit with amber light.

And bursting, popping in delight

Hot stove still rattles in a fray.

While it is nice to hear its clatter,

Perhaps, we should command to saddle

A fervent mare into the sleight?

And sliding on the morning snow

Dear friend, we'll let our worries go,

And with the zealous mare we'll flee.

We'll visit empty ranges, thence,

The woods, which used to be so dense

And then the shore, so dear to me.


I will be silenced soon!... If on the tragic day

The strings would answer me with pensive play;

If only youth, would mutely grasp me first,

They'd marvel at my love's affliction;

If you, aroused by a mere conviction,

In silence mumbled melancholy verse

And loved my speaking heart in hover...

If I am loved... allow me, my dear friend,

New spirit to the parting lyre send --

The sacred name of my beloved lover!...

When with eternal sleep I will be stoned,

Above my grave then say in inflammation:

"He's loved by me and to me he was loaned

In songs and love's conclusive inspiration."


If by life you were deceived,

Don't be dismal, don't be wild!

In the day of grief, be mild

Merry days will come, believe.

Heart is living in tomorrow;

Present is dejected here;

In a moment, passes sorrow;

That which passes will be dear.


The final flowers are more dear

Than charming maidens in the field

And the dejected aspirations

They reawake in us with life

Thus sometimes separation's strife

Is livelier than love's occasions


The empty "you" for "thee"-- so mild,

By chance, she swapped in dialogue

And all the dreams that I've compiled

Within my loving soul evoked.

I stand before her very humbly,

To look aside -- I do not dare;

I say to her: "you" are so fair!

And gravely think: How much I love "thee!"


What's in my name? It's soulless,

It shall expire, like the dismal roar

Of waves that hit the distant shore, --

Like nighttime noises in the forest!

Upon the memo sheet, in grief,

Its imprint in the stillborn gloom,

Much like the writing on the tomb,

In foreign language it will leave.

What's in it? All the lost and trite

In new and wild insurrection,

Within your soul it won't excite

The pure and kind recollections.

But silently, in time of anguish

Pronounce it softly while grieving

Say that my memory won't vanish

That there's a heart in which I'm living...