From “Eugene Onegin” by A. Pushkin: Но грустно думать, что напрасно...

It's sad to think, that it’s in vain
The gift of youth is wasted thus,
That we’ve betrayed it in the main,
That it has disappointed us;
That all the best of our wishes,
That dreams, exalted and delicious,
Decayed forever, in a rush,
Like fallen leaves in autumn slush.
It’s so intolerable to see
Long dinners, which are so rife,
To stick to a ritualistic life,
And with a crowd’s ascendancy
To go, not sharing with its fashion
Nor mutual points of view or passions.

Валерий Игнатович, поэтический перевод, 2012

Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 862 № 94404 от 31.07.2012

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