Aleksandr Pushkin

Oh, laziness, come, come to me, alone. 
You’re called for by soft coolness and good rest;
Only in you I see my goddess own;
All is here ready for the youthful guest,
All’s quiet here – the boring noise fell down
Behind my porch; upon a window, bright,
Downed a curtain, transparent and light;
And in a niche, where now a dusk is crowned,
Is weakly creeping bashful light of a day.
There’s my divan. Come to the word’s abode;
And be a queen. I’m here to obey.
All here is yours: paints, brushes, a lyre gold –
Just teach me right, move my hand in your way.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, April 10, 2005