Pushkin (Russia)
Under the blue sky of our motherland
Her description is haggard. ...
Finally withered, maybe there is one.
The young ghost is spinning on my head;
But we have insurmountable boundaries.
I evoke my emotions in vain:
Her death came from her cold lips,
I also listened to it coldly.
This is the person I loved with a fiery heart.
I love so passionately, so deeply,
So gentle, so depressed,
So crazy and so painful!
Where there is pain, there is love. In my heart,
For that poor credulous soul,
For the sweet memories of those lost years,
I have neither shed tears nor been accused.