by Alexander Pushkin
For the shores of thy distant home
Thou hast forsaken the foreign land;
In a memorable, sad hour
I before thee cried long.
Tho' cold my hands were growing
Thee back to hold they tried;
And begged of thee my parting groan
The gnawing weariness not to break.
But from my bitter kisses thou
Thy lips away hast torn;
From the land of exile dreary
Calling me to another land.
Thou saidst: on the day of meeting
Beneath a sky forever blue
Olives' shade beneath, love's kisses
Again, my friend, we shall unite.
But where, alas! the vaults of sky
Shining are with glimmer blue,
Where 'neath the rocks the waters slumber --
With last sleep art sleeping thou.
And beauty thine and sufferings
In the urnal grave have disappeared --
But the kiss of meeting is also gone. . . .
But still I wait: thou art my debtor! . . .
Translator: Translated from the Russian, By Ivan Panin
Cupples And Hurd, 94 Boylston Street, Boston