by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
I remember the marvellous moment
you appeared before me,
like a transient vision,
like pure beauty’s spirit.
Lost in hopeless sadness,
lost in the loud world’s turmoil,
I heard your voice’s echo,
and often dreamed your features.
Years passed. The storm winds scattered,
with turbulent gusts, that dreaming.
I forgot your voice, its tenderness.
I forgot your lovely face.
Remote in my darkened exile,
the days dragged by so slowly,
without grace, without inspiration,
without life, without tears, without love.
Then my spirit woke
and you, you appeared again,
like a transient vision,
like pure beauty’s spirit.
And my heart beats with delight,
and ecstasy, inside me,
and grace and inspiration,
and tears, and life, and love.