The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection) Read online

1824.

  LOVE

  BITTERLY groaning, jealous maid the youth was scolding;

  He, on her shoulder leaning, suddenly was in slumber lost.

  Silent forthwith is the maid; his light sleep now fondles she

  Now she smiles upon him, and is shedding gentle tears.

  1835

  JEALOUSY

  DAMP day’s light is quenched: damp night’s darkness

  Stretches over the sky its leaden garment.

  Like a ghost, from behind the pine wood

  Foggy moon has risen....

  — All brings upon my soul darkness grievous.

  Far, far away rises the shining moon,

  There the earth is filled with evening warmth

  There the sea moveth with luxuriant wave

  Under the heavens blue....

  Now is the time. On the hillside now she walks

  To the shore washed by noisy waves.

  There, under the billowed cliffs

  Alone she sits now melancholy....

  Alone... none before her weeping, grieves not,

  Her knees none kisses in ecstasy.

  Alone... to lips of none she is yielding

  Her shoulders, nor moist lips, nor snow-white fingers.

  None is worthy of her heavenly love.

  Is it not so? Thou art alone.... Thou weepest....

  And I at peace? —

  But if —

  1823.

  IN AN ALBUM

  THE name of me, what is it to thee

  Die it shall like the grievous sound

  Of wave, playing on distant shore,

  As sound of night in forest dark.

  Upon the sheet of memory

  Its traces dead leave it shall

  Inscriptions-like of grave-yard

  In some foreign tongue.

  What is in it? Long ago forgotten

  In tumultuous waves and fresh

  To thy soul not give it shall

  Pure memories and tender.

  But on sad days, in calmness

  Do pronounce it sadly;

  Say then: I do remember thee —

  1829.

  THE AWAKING

  On earth one heart is where yet I live!

  YE dreams, ye dreams,

  Where is your sweetness?

  Where thou, where thou

  O — joy of night?

  Disappeared has it,

  The joyous dream;

  And solitary

  In darkness deep

  I awaken.

  Round my bed

  Is silent night.

  At once are cooled,

  At once are fled,

  All in a crowd

  The dreams of Love —

  Still with longing

  The soul is filled

  And grasps of sleep

  The memory.

  O — Love, O Love,

  O — hear my prayer:

  Again send me

  Those visions thine,

  And on the morrow

  Raptured anew

  Let me die

  Without awaking!

  1816.

  ELEGY: HAPPY WHO TO HIMSELF CONFESS

  HAPPY who to himself confess

  His passion dares without terror;

  Happy who in fate uncertain

  By modest hope is fondled;

  Happy who by foggy moonbeams

  Is led to midnight joyful

  And with faithful key who gently

  The door unlocks of his beloved.

  But for me in sad my life

  No joy there is of secret pleasure;

  Hope’s early flower faded is,

  By struggle withered is life’s flower.

  Youth away flies melancholy,

  And droop with me life’s roses;

  But by Love tho’ long forgot,

  Forget Love’s tears I cannot.

  FIRST LOVE

  NOT at once our youth is faded,

  Not at once our joys forsake us,

  And happiness we unexpected

  Yet embrace shall more than once;

  But ye, impressions never-dying

  Of newly trepidating Love,

  And thou, first flame of Intoxication,

  Not flying back are coming ye!

  ELEGY: HUSHED I SOON SHALL BE

  HUSHED I soon shall be. But if on sorrow’s day

  My songs to me with pensive play replied;

  But if the youths to me, in silence listening

  At my love’s long torture were marvelling;

  But if thou thyself, to tenderness yielding

  Repeated in quiet my melancholy verses

  And didst love my heart’s passionate language;

  But if I am loved: — grant then, O dearest friend,

  That my beautiful beloved’s coveted name

  Breathe life into my lyre’s farewell.

  When for aye embraced I am by sleep of Death,

  Over my urn do with tenderness pronounce:

  “By me he loved was, to me he owed

  Of his love and song his last inspiration.”

  THE BURNT LETTER

  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: bum, 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

  Bums 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....

  1825.

  SING NOT, BEAUTY

  SING not, Beauty, in my presence,

  Of Transcaucasia sad the songs,

  Of distant shore, another life,

  The memory to me they bring.

  Alas, alas, remind they do,

  These cruel strains of thine,

  Of steppes, and night, and of the moon

  And of distant, poor maid’s features.

  The vision loved, tender, fated,

  Forget can I, when thee I see

  But when thou singest, then before me

  Up again it rises.

  Sing not, Beauty, in my presence

  Of Transcaucasia sad the songs,

  Of distant shore, another life

  The memory to me they bring.

  SIGNS

  To thee I rode: living dreams then

  Behind me winding in playful crowd;

  My sportive trot my shoulder over

  The moon upon my right was chasing.

  From thee I rode: other dreams now.

  My loving soul now sad was,

  And the moon at left my side

  Companion mine now sad was.

  To dreaming thus in quiet ever

  Singers we are given over;

  Marks thus of superstition

  Soul’s feeling with are in accord!

  A PRESENTIMENT

  THE clouds again are o’er me,

  Have gathered in the stillness;

  Again me with misfortune

  Envious fate now threatens.

  Will I keep my defiance?

  Will I bring against her

  The firmness and patience

  Of my youthful pride?

  Wearied by a stormy life

  I await the storm fretless

  Perhaps once more safe again

  A harbor shall I find....

  But I feel the parting nigh,

  Unavoidable, fearful hour,

  To press thy hand for the last time,<
br />
  I haste to thee, my angel.

  Angel gentle, angel calm,

  Gently tell me: fare thee well.

  Be thou grieved: thy tender gaze

  Either drop or to me raise.

  The memory of thee now shall

  To my soul replace

  The strength, the pride and the hope,

  The daring of my former days!

  1828.

  IN VAIN, DEAR FRIEND

  IN vain, dear friend, to conceal I tried

  The turmoil cold of my grieving soul;

  Now me thou knowest; goes by the intoxication.

  And no longer thee I love....

  Vanished for aye the bewitching hours,

  The beautiful time has passed,

  Youthful desires extinguished are

  And lifeless hope is in my heart....

  LOVE’S DEBT

  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!....

  INVOCATION

  OH, if true it is that by night

  When resting are the living

  And from the sky the rays of moon

  Along the stones of church-yard glide;

  O, if true it is that emptied then

  Are the quiet graves,

  I — call thy shade, I wait my Lila

  Come hither, come hither, my friend, to me!

  Appear, O shade of my beloved

  As thou before our parting wert:

  Pale, cold, like a wintry day

  Disfigured by thy struggle of death,

  Come like unto a distant star,

  Or like a fearful apparition,

  ‘T is all the same: Come hither, come hither

  And I call thee, not in order

  To reproach him whose wickedness

  My friend hath slain.

  Nor to fathom the grave’s mysteries,

  Nor because at times I’m worn

  With gnawing doubt... but I sadly

  Wish to say that still I love thee,

  That wholly thine I am: hither come, O hither!

  1828.

  ELEGY: THE EXTINGUISHED JOY OF CRAZY YEARS

  THE extinguished joy of crazy years

  On me rests heavy, like dull debauch.

  But of by-gone days the grief, like wine

  In my soul the older, the stronger ‘t grows.

  Dark my path. Toil and pain promised are me

  By the Future’s roughened sea.

  But not Death, O friends, I wish!

  But Life I wish: to think and suffer;

  Well I know, for me are joys in store

  ‘Mid struggles, toils, and sorrows:

  Yet’ gain at times shall harmony drink in

  And tears I’ll shed over Fancy’s fruit, —

  Yet mayhap at my saddened sunset

  Love will beam with farewell and smile.

  1830.

  SORROW

  ASK not why with sad reflection

  ‘Mid gayety I oft am darkened,

  Why ever cheerless eyes I raise,

  Why sweet life’s dream not dear to me is;

  Ask not why with frigid soul

  I — joyous love no longer crave,

  And longer none I call dear:

  Who once has loved, not again can love;

  Who bliss has known, ne’er again shall know;

  For one brief moment to us ‘t is given:

  Of youth, of joy, of tenderness

  Is left alone the sadness.

  1817.

  DESPAIR

  DEAR my friend, we are now parted,

  My soul’s asleep; I grieve in silence.

  Gleams the day behind the mountain blue,

  Or rises the night with moon autumnal, —

  Still thee I seek, my far off friend,

  Thee alone remember I everywhere,

  Thee alone in restless sleep I see.

  Pauses my mind, unwittingly thee I call;

  Listens mine ear, then thy voice I hear.

  And thou my lyre, my despair dost share,

  Of sick my soul companion thou!

  Hollow is and sad the sound of thy string,

  Grief’s sound alone hast not forgot....

  Faithful lyre, with me grieve thou!

  Let thine easy note and careless

  Sing of love mine and despair,

  And while listening to thy singing

  May thoughtfully the maidens sigh!

  1816

  A WISH

  SLOWLY my days are dragging

  And in my faded heart each moment doubles

  All the sorrows of hopeless love

  And heavy craze upsets me.

  But I am silent. Heard not is my murmur.

  Tears I shed... they are my consolation;

  My soul in sorrow steeped

  Finds enjoyment bitter in them.

  O — flee, life’s dream, thee not regret I!

  In darkness vanish, empty vision I

  Dear to me is of love my pain,

  Let me die, but let me die still loving!

  1816.

  RESIGNED LOVE

  THEE I loved; not yet love perhaps is

  In my heart entirely quenched

  But trouble let it thee no more;

  Thee to grieve with nought I wish.

  Silent, hopeless thee I loved,

  By fear tormented, now by jealousy;

  So sincere my love, so tender,

  May God the like thee grant from another.

  LOVE AND FREEDOM

  CHILD of Nature and simple,

  Thus to sing was wont I

  Sweet the dream of freedom —

  With tenderness my breast it filled.

  But thee I see, thee I hear —

  And now? Weak become I.

  With freedom lost forever

  With all my heart I bondage prize.

  NOT AT ALL

  I THOUGHT forgotten has the heart

  Of suffering the easy art;

  Not again can be, said I

  Not again what once has been.

  Of Love the sorrows gone were,

  Now calm were my airy dreams....

  But behold! again they tremble

  Beauty’s mighty power before!...

  INSPIRING LOVE

  THE moment wondrous I remember

  Thou before me didst appear

  Like a flashing apparition,

  Like a spirit of beauty pure.

  ‘Mid sorrows of hopeless grief,

  ‘Mid tumults of noiseful bustle,

  Rang long to me thy tender voice,

  Came dreams to me of thy lovely features.

  Went by the years. The storm’s rebellious rush

  The former dreams had scattered

  And I forgot thy tender voicè,

  I — forgot thy heavenly features.

  In the desert, in prison’s darkness,

  Quietly my days were draggi
ng;

  No reverence, nor inspiration,

  Nor tears, nor life, nor love.

  But at last awakes my soul:

  And again didst thou appear:

  Like a flashing apparition,

  Like a spirit of beauty pure.

  And enraptured beats my heart,

  And risen are for it again

  Both reverence, and inspiration

  And life, and tears, and love.

  1825.

  THE GRACES

  Till now no faith I had in Graces:

  Seemed strange to me their triple sight;

  Thee I see, and with faith am filled

  Adoring now in one the three!

  POEMS MISCELLANEOUS

  THE BIRDLET

  IN exile I sacredly observe

  The custom of my fatherland:

  I freedom to a birdlet give

  On Spring’s holiday serene.

  And now I too have consolation:

  Wherefore murmur against my God

  When at least to one living being

  I could of freedom make a gift?

  1823.

  THE NIGHTINGALE

  IN silent gardens, in the spring, in the darkness of the night

  Sings above the rose from the east the nightingale;

  But dear rose neither feeling has, nor listens it,

  But under its lover’s hymn waveth it and slumbers.

  Dost thou not sing thus to beauty cold?

  Reflect, O bard, whither art thou striding?

  She neither listens, nor the bard she feels.

  Thou gazest? Bloom she does; thou callest? —

  Answer none she gives!

  1827.

  THE FLOWERET

  A FLOWERET, withered, odorless

  In a book forgot I find;

  And already strange reflection

  Cometh into my mind.

  Bloomed, where? when? In what spring?

  And how long ago? And plucked by whom?

  Was it by a strange hand? Was it by a dear hand?

  And wherefore left thus here?

  Was it in memory of a tender meeting?

  Was it in memory of a fated parting?

  Was it in memory of a lonely walk?

  In the peaceful fields or in the shady woods?

  Lives he still? Lives she still?

  And where their nook this very day?

  Or are they too withered

  Like unto this unknown floweret?

  1828.