From Pushkin
Not highly I esteem
The loud rights from which many a head spin.
I do not murmur that the Fates
Denied me the sweet lot of contesting tax rates
Or of preventing kings from fighting one another;
And honestly, I little bother,
Whether press humbugs simpletons without limitations
Or watchful censorship restrains buffoons in publishing intentions.
All this is words, words, words, as thou see.
Some other better rights are precious to me;
Some other better freedom I require:
Depending on the mob, depending on the sire —
Is it not all the same? God be with them. To be obliged
To give account to no one, to serve and to indulge
Thyself alone; for power, for rank
To crook neither thy conscience, nor thoughts, nor trunk;
At will to ramble far and wide,
Being carried away by nature's divine sight,
And to regard pieces of art and inspiration,
Quivering joyfully with a rapturous sensation.
— Here is happiness! here are the rights…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem