*Another one of my translations, again it's a poem from Aleksander Pushkin.
Donít covet goods of other beings --
My Goodness, Youíve commanded so;
The limits of my will You know --
Am I to manage tender feelings?!
I wish not to offend my friend,
His village I do not desire,
And for his steer I donít aspire,
Iím gazing at it with a content:
His men, his house and his cattle,
Iím tempted not, though all is great.
But letís imagine that his maid
Is beautiful... Iíve lost the battle!
And if by chance his ladyís pretty
And gifted with an angelís skin
Then God forgive me for my sin
Of being envious and greedy!
Who can command a heart like this?
Who is a slave to feeble effort?
Not love a person who is revered?--
Who can resist the heavenís bliss?
I sigh from sadness and perceive,
But I must honor my conviction,
Afraid to flatter heartís ambition,
Iím silent... and alone I grieve.
†"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 05-07-2000).]