Aleksandr Pushkin

The lazy artist-boor is blacking
The genius's picture with his stuff,
Without any sense a-making
His low drawing above.

But alien paints, in stride of years,
Are falling down as a dust,
The genius's masterpiece appears
With former brilliance to us.

Like this, the darkly apparitions
Are leaving off my tortured heart,
And it again revives the visions
Of virgin days I left behind.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, March, 1997
Edited by Dmitry Karshtedt, December, 1999