A poem by Alexander Pushkin – Pouchkine, Pooshkin (1799-1837), in English translation
When the loud day for men who sow and reap
Grows still, and on the silence of the town
The unsubstantial veils of night and sleep,
The meed of the day’s labour, settle down,
Then for me in the stillness of the night
The wasting, watchful hours drag on their course,
And in the idle darkness comes the bite
Of all the burning serpents of remorse;
Dreams seethe; and fretful infelicities
Are swarming in my over-burdened soul,
And Memory before my wakeful eyes
With noiseless hand unwinds her lengthy scroll.
Then, as with loathing I peruse the years,
I tremble, and I curse my natal day,
Wail bitterly, and bitterly shed tears,
But cannot wash the woeful script away.
A few random poems:
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
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- "I Carry Your Heart With Me," A Discussion of the Poem by E. E. Cummings
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- Poetry by Thomas Kemp – Your Poet Is!
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- Love is Not Love – In Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18, Anyway
- Jose Garcia Villa and What Poetry Is
- “Why Don’t You Come?” A Discussion of the Poem by Mihai Eminescu
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
- A Winter Evening poem – Alexander Pushkin - November 25, 2021
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- Upon The Hills Of Georgia poem – Alexander Pushkin - November 25, 2021