Lyudmila Purgina

Freshman - 597 Points (Russian Federation)

A.Pushkin, Confession - Translation (Rus) - Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

Confession (to Alina Osipova)

I love thee - though I'm furious with thee,
Though it's a toil and a shame so idle.
With that unlucky folly I admit
Before thy feet, but may be it's futile!
That does not fit not to my face, nor age...
So it's a time for me to grow wiser!
But I do recognize by all marks yet -
The love disease in soul either:
I'm tedious without thee, - I gape;
I'm dreary in view of thee, - I bear;
I can't endure now - wish to say
My angel, how I do love thee, dear!

When I do hear a gown's noise,
Thy easy pace from drawing room,
Or virgin, innocent thy voice,
Then rest of mind I seem to lose.
Thee smile to me, - I'm consoled;
Thee turn away, - I fall to bore;
For one day's torment - the reward
Is your pale thin hand, no more.
When thee're assidiously sitting
Before the frame, inclined negligently,
With eyes and hair curls turned down, -
Being affected, I admire silently
And tenderly thee, as a child! .....

How could I say about my woe,
About jealous disquietude,
When thee are going to go
So far to walk in weather foul?
And then thy tears on thy's own,
And talks in corner girls together,
And journeys to Opochka town,
And in the evening piano playing? ...

Alina, please, be so pity
To me, who failed to dare love.
May that be for my inner sins
My angel, I'm not worthy Thine!
But try to feign! This look can much
Express to me and bring felicity!
Oh, thee could thus decieve me such,
But I'm glad to be decieved!

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, June 18, 2011

Poem Edited: Sunday, February 5, 2012

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