The Invocation

Oh if it's true that in the night
When living souls repose abed
And fallen beams of lunar light
Slide onto headstones of the dead...
Oh if it's true that then till day
The graves are opened in the earth,
I call the shade of Layla forth!
Come back, my dear! This way! This way

Beloved shade, appear and rise
As once you were before we parted,
As pale and chill as winter skies,
By final agony contorted.
Come as a distant star, a ray,
As a light sound, a breath, a scent,
Or as a ghastly revenant
I care not how! This way! This way!

I do not call you to reprove
Or take revenge on those whose spite
Ended the life of her I love,
Nor to spy out the grave's dark rite,
Nor yet because I writhe as prey
To doubt… But, anguishing above you,
I want to say that I still love you
And am still yours! This way! This way!

Translated by A. Z. Foreman

A.S. Pushkin. The Invocation (“Oh if it's true that in the night...”). 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.