Alexander Pushkin

Translated by Ivan Eubanks


The power and the glory of the war,
Faithless as their vain votaries, men,
Had passed to the triumphant Czar.








To you — but can the somber muse’s
Voice ever hope to touch your ear?
And could your modest soul perceive
The aspirations of my heart?
Or will a poet’s dedication,
As once upon a time his love,
Extend to you and lack reply,
To pass you by still unacknowledged?
But recognize, at least, those sounds
That were, at one time, dear to you;
And think, that on our day of parting,
Wherever fickle fate may lead me,
Your melancholy wilderness,
The last I’ll hear of your sweet voice,
Shall be my only treasured idol,
My soul’s one solitary love.