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WANDERING THE NOISY STREETS

Wandering the noisy streets,
Entering the crowded church,
Sitting among wild young men,
I am lost in my thoughts.

I say to myself: the years will fly,
And however many are here, we shall all
Go down under the eternal vaults.
Someone's hour is already at hand.

Gazing at a solitary oak,
I think: this patriarch
Will outlive my forgotten age
As it outlived the age of my fathers.

When I caress a dear child,
I'm already thinking: goodbye!
I yield my place to you: it's time
For me to decay and you to blossom.

I say goodbye to each day,
Trying to guess
Which among them will be
The anniversary of my death.

And how and where shall I die?
Fighting, travelling, in the waves?
Or will the neighbouring valley
Receive my cold dust?

And though it's all the same
To the feelingless body,
I should like to rest
Closer to the places I love.

And at the grave's entrance
Let young life play,
And the beauty of indifferent nature
Never cease to shine.

~ ALEKSÁNDR SERGÉYEVICH PÚSHKIN

1829