To A Poet Poem by Emil Sharafutdinov

(sonnet)
From Pushkin

Poet! do not prize highly public love.
Exalted praises' fleeting noise shall fade;
You'll hear a fool's verdict and cold crowd's laugh:
But you stay true, composed and self-contained.

You are a king: live singly. By a free road
Go wherever your free mind inclines,
Perfecting fruits of your favorite designs,
And for a noble deed demanding no reward.

It is in you alone. The highest court is yours;
Stricter than anyone you can appraise your toils
Are you content with them, exacting master?

Content? Well, let the crowd curse them then and spit
On the altar where your fire is lit
And shake your easel in its childish fluster.