Aleksandr Pushkin

Near the area, where reigns Venice of gold,
One nightly gondolier, directing forth his boat,
To light of Vesper-star, sails o’er the quiet sea,
And there Erminia, Renaldo, Gottfried sings.
He loves his own song, and sings it for his frolic
Without far-looking plans; he knows neither glory 
Nor any fear nor hope; with quiet Muse of his
He can sweeten his cruise over the waters’ deeps.
So on the sea of life, where tempests so severe
Chase, in obscurity, my sail, alone here, -
Like him, without response, I sing my own song,
And love to contemplate my secret verse for long.
 


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, July 8, 2004