Aleksandr Pushkin

When your so young and fairy years
Are smeared by the gossip’s noise,
And by the high word’s trial, fierce,
Your public honor’s fully lost;

Alone midst indifferent crowds,
I share with you your soul’s pains,
And just for you my prayers, loud,
Are send to idols, void of sense.

But the high world … His accusations,
How cruel they are, he’d ne’er take back:
He doesn’t root out the blind transgressions,
But bids to hide the sinful tracks.

They’re worth of quite the same aversion –
His secret and so vain-full love,
And hypocritical damnation:
Try to forget the whole stuff.

Don’t drink the poison, outrageous;
Leave that high circle, bright and close;
Leave crazy merriments and pleasures:                              
You still have one good friend of yours.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, July 11, 2004