Aleksandr Pushkin

O dreams, my dreams,
Where is your sweetness?
Where are you,
Joy of nightly fleetness?
They’re gone away –
My fancies, gay,
And now alone
In darkness grown
I, sleepless, stay.

A mute night hovers  
My bed above
In a flash lone 
Turned cool and gone
Dreams of my love, 
Like a tense crowd.
But still heart beats 
The longings’ sound
And catches bits
Of dreams around.

Love, hear my plea,
Hark to my prayer:
Send back to me 
Your visions, fair,
And by morn sky,
Again enchanted,
Let . . . Let me die 
Still unawaken’d.
 


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August 28, 2005