Monday, May 10, 2010

"26 May 1828" by A.S. Pushkin

Gift haphazard, unavailing,
Life, why were thou given me?
Why are thou to death unfailing
Sentenced by dark destiny?

Who in harsh despotic fashion
Once from nothing called me out,
Filled my soul with burning passion
Vexed and shook my mind with doubt?

I can see no goal before me;
Empty heart and idle mind.
Life monotonously o'er me
Roars, and leaves a wound behind.