*And yet another one of my translations, and again it's from A. Pushkin.
Iíve lived to see desire vanish,
With hope Iíve slowly grown to part,
And I am left with only anguish,
The fruit of emptiness at heart.
Under the storms of merciless fate
My thriving garland whithered lies--
In sadness, lonesome, I await :
How far away is my demise?
Thus, conquered by a tardy frost,
Through galeís whisteling, I shiver,
And on a naked limb exposed
A lonesome leaf is left to quiver...
†"I will not whole die, my soul in sacred lyre,
will outlive my dust and will escape decay,
And in the moonlit sphere, my glory will not tire
As long as poets still remain" A. Pushkin
[This message has been edited by Master (edited 04-14-2000).]