Aleksandr Pushkin

She’s all just harmony and wonder,
Higher than passions and the world,
She rests, with her sweet shyness, under
Her beauty’s ritual abode;
She looks around self in silence:
There’re no contenders hers, no friends,
Our beauties’ circle, pale and blend,
Fades out in her dazzling brightness.

Wherever weren’t you hurry, yet,
Even to date with your beloved,
What sense with weren’t your heart upset,
Even with song of highest sound, – 
But having met her in alarm,
You suddenly shall stop, embarrassed –  
In ecstasy, like one of prayers,
Feeling the holiness of charm.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 2001