The Cliff Poem by Emil Sharafutdinov
The Cliff
Rating: ★5.0
From Lermontov
A golden cloud passed the night
On the bosom of a giant cliff;
Early in the morning she took leave,
Playing merrily in the sun light;
But there has been left a humid trace
In the old cliff's wrinkle. Lonely
Stands he, thinking wanly,
Quietly cries he in the barren space.
Sunday, February 12, 2023
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
a translation from Lermontov
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4/24/2024 3:20:12 AM # 1.0.0.1119
