Elegy [Poem]

Author(s): Pushkin and Eugene Mark Kayden

Source: The Sewanee Review, Vol. 50, No. 4 (Oct. - Dec., 1942), p. 538
Published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/27537346 .
Accessed: 13/06/2014 19:00

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538 by PUSHKIN

Elegy
Like fumes of wine
and songs of maudlin night,
The memories of mirth
and wild delight
Are whelming me, and sorrows past, like wine
Grown old, grow sharper as my days decline.
My way is bleak; upon the troubled sea
Of life there's only toil and grief for me.

But, no, my friends, I do not ask to die!

I want to live, to think, to suffer, sigh.
I know that I shall taste of happiness
Despite the grief, the anguish and distress;
That moved to happy tears by dreams of mine
I will lose myself in poetry divine;
And, haply, at my death, for one brief while
Fair Love may smile at me her farewell smile.
1830

Sleep Has Left Me

Sleep has left me; dark the room;
All around me weary slumber;
Slow the dreary tickings number
Creeping minutes in the gloom.
Parca's whisperings uncertain,

rustling in the curtain,

Stillness
Memories on micelike feet,
Grieve my spirit in defeat. . . .
Does the darkness cry my shame,
Murmuring a living blame,
me to greater woe?
Dooming
Do the voices warn of hate,
Call to me> or bode ill fate?
I would know. . . .
Speak, your meaning

1830

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