Aleksandr Pushkin

Tumansky’s right when he compared you,
So well with an alive rain-bow:
You’re sweet, as she is in the heavens blue,
And just like her, you’re changeable in soul.
And you are like the rose of a past spring:
Like her, to our wonder, endless,
You blossom in a gorgeous thing
And sting – let our Father bless you.
But most of all I like the image yours
As a fresh brook – It gladdens my heart, poor:
You’re pure like him with mind and heart, of course,
And colder than he is, for sure.
All comparisons, rest, aren’t good enough for praise
That’s not Bard’s fault – unreal is his mission –
You’re, with a charm of heart and with a charm of face,
By mischance! beyond comparison.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, March 12, 2005