When din of day for mortals softly ends
And down on the mute city squares
The half-transparent shade of night descends
With slumber, balm of daylong cares,
Then, in the still for me the hours bring
Exhausting sleepless pains anew.
Searing in blank of night, the serpent's sting
Venoms my heart with acid rue.
Black fancies seethe, and floods of anguish blast
The corners of my burdened soul;
Without a sound, remembrance of things past
Unwinds to me her lengthy scroll.
Then reading with disgust the writ of years
I tremble, damn my every day,
Bawl bitter plaints, and bitterly shed tears
But wipe not one sad line away.

Translated by A. Z. Foreman

A.S. Pushkin. Remembrance (“When din of day for mortals softly ends..”). Translated by A. Z. Foreman // Alexander Pushkin. Collected Works: Parallel Russian Text and English Translation.
© Электронная публикация — РВБ, 2022—2024. Версия 2.1 от 30 ноября 2023 г.