It never dims, that magic moment:
T’was you who came before my eyes:
Of all things pure - a fleeting omen,
The truth of Beauty in disguise.
Among my sorrows never ending,
Among the empty bustling days,
I heard your voice: so lasting, tender,
And dreamt your dear unearthly face.
But years passed. The raging tempest
Dispelled my dreams, my loyal ways:
And I forgot your voice so tender,
Your ever dear unearthly face.
My days, imprisoned my stagnation,
Were creeping by, no sun above;
No touch divine, or inspiration;
No gentle tears, life or love.
My soul awakened on its morning:
Again you came before my eyes:
Of all things pure a fleeting omen,
The truth of Beauty in disguise.
The heart – in pulsing exaltation –
Has found anew your grace and light:
That touch divine, that inspiration,
Those gentle tears, love and life.
It never dims, that magic moment... Pushkin...
© Copyright: Маленький Принц, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116050602559
Свидетельство о публикации №116050602559
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