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How sad, however, if we're given Our youth as something to betray, And what if youth in turn is driven To cheat on us, each hour, each day, If our mo… - Alexander Pushkin
" "How sad, however, if we're given
Our youth as something to betray,
And what if youth in turn is driven
To cheat on us, each hour, each day,
If our most precious aspirations,
Our freshest dreams, imaginations
In fast succession have decayed,
As leaves, in putrid autumn, fade.
It is too much to see before one
Nothing but dinners in a row,
Behind the seemly crowd to go,
Regarding life as mere decorum,
Having no common views to share,
Nor passions that one might declare.
English
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About Alexander Pushkin
Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin (Russian: Алекса́ндр Серге́евич Пу́шкин) (6 June (26 May, O.S.) 1799 – 10 February (29 January, O.S.) 1837) was a Russian poet, playwright, and novelist of the Romantic era. He is considered by many to be the greatest Russian poet and the founder of modern Russian literature.
Biography information from Wikiquote
Also Known As
Pen Names:
Александр НКШП
•
Иван Петрович Белкин
•
Феофилакт Косичкин
•
P., Ст. Арз. (Старый Арзамасец)
•
А. Б.
Native Name:
Александр Сергеевич Пушкин
•
Александръ Сергѣевичъ Пушкинъ
Alternative Names:
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
•
Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin
•
Aleksandr Pushkin
•
Aleksandr Serge'evich Pushkin
•
Pushkin
•
Pouchkine Aleksandr Sergueevitch
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Additional quotes by Alexander Pushkin
I rode to meet you: dreams
like living beings swarmed around me
and the moon on my right side
followed me, burning.
I rode back: everything changed.
My soul in love was sad
and the moon on my left side
trailed me without hope.
To such endless impressions
we poets give ourselves absolutely,
making, in silence, omen of mere event,
until the world reflects the deepest needs of the soul.
55 But I was born for peaceful roaming, For country calm and lack of strife; My lyre sings! And in the gloaming My fertile fancies spring to life. I give myself to harmless pleasures And far niente rules my leisures: Each morning early I’m awake To wander by the lonely lake Or seek some other sweet employment: I read a little, often sleep, For fleeting fame I do not weep. And was it not in past enjoyment Of shaded, idle times like this, I spent my days of deepest bliss?
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