Page:Poems, Alexander Pushkin, 1888.djvu/76

70 REMINISCENCE.

noisy day to mortals quiet grows,

And upon the city's silent walls

Night's shadow half-transparent lies,

And Sleep, of daily toils reward,—

Then for me are dragging in the silence

Of wearying wakefulness the hours.

In the sloth of night more scorching burn

My heart's serpents' gnawing fangs;

Boil my thoughts; my soul with grief oppressed

Full of reveries sad is thronged.

Before me memory in silence

Its lengthy roll unfolds.

And with disgust my life I reading

Tremble I and curse it.

Bitterly I moan, and bitterly my tears I shed,

But wash away the lines of grief I cannot.

In laziness, in senseless feasts

In the craziness of ruinous license,

In thraldom, poverty, and homeless deserts

My wasted years there I behold.