From the elation of the years that faded,
As though from drinking, I feel wearied, jaded.
But still, the sorrow of lost years—like wine,
Grows only stronger in my soul with time.
My road is gloomy. Only work and sorrow
Are promised by the raging seas of morrow.
But, o my friends, I do not want to leave!
I want to be alive, to think and grieve;
And I predict, that I will find some pleasure
Amidst anxiety, amidst the stress and pressure.
Some day, perhaps, I’ll find my harmony,
And only lukewarm tears will comfort me,
And love will flash her smile once again
In farewell to illumine my descent.
By Alexander Pushkin
Translation by Andrey Kneller