Aleksandr Pushkin

Best of all friends, dear friend my own!
And I my sober fortune hailed
When yard of mine, so poor and lone,
Covered with snow, thick and solemn,
Filled sound of your little bell.

I pray the sacred destination:
Let my voice, deafened in these realms,
Too give your soul consolation,
And let it lighten isolation
With our Alma Mater’s beams!


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, June 27, 2003