The Burnt Letter
by Alexander Pushkin
Good-bye, love-letter, good-bye! 'T is her command. . . .
How long I waited, how long my hand
To the fire my joys to yield was loath! . . .
But eno', the hour has come: burn, letter of my love!
I am ready: listens more my soul to nought.
Now the greedy flame thy sheets shall lick . . .
A minute! . . . they crackle, they blaze ... a light smoke
Curls and is lost with prayer mine.
Now the finger's faithful imprint losing
Burns the melted wax. . . . O Heavens!
Done it is! curled in are the dark sheets;
Upon their ashes light the lines adored
Are gleaming. . . . My breast is heavy. Ashes dear,
In my sorrowful lot but poor consolation,
Remain for aye with me on my weary breast. . . .
Translator: Translated from the Russian, By Ivan Panin
Cupples And Hurd, 94 Boylston Street, Boston