A.S. Pushkin
I do not pit its, years' a Spring of mine,
That passed with dreams of vain a love,
I do not pit its, nights whith mysteries're shine
That voluptuous flute has singing their sharm.
I do not pit you, faithless friends of mine,
A banquets' garlands and a loving-cups,
I do noy pit you, traitress of a prity shine,
I am in dreaming, and I'm apart of marry-chaps
But where are you, a minutes of my choice,
Of a young hopes, and a calm's reason?
Where previous hot, and a tears of my voice?
I wait for you, and come again my years of Spring!
Translation from Russian
V. Panchenko(vipanch), 2023