читать дальшеIn those past days when all impressions
Of the existence were still new to me -
The women's side-glances, the rustle of a grove,
And late at night the song of a nightingale -
When those sublime passions
Of freedom, glory, and love,
Together with the inspired arts,
Excited forcefully my blood,
Like a sudden shadow of angst
Amidst the hours of hopes and pleasures,
Some evil genius began
To visit me in secret.
Our meetings were quite joyless:
His smile, his weird gaze,
His stinging talk infused
Cold venom into my soul.
He tempted the providence
With an inexhaustible malediction,
He called the beauty just a dream,
He disdained the inspiration,
He won't believe in love or freedom,
Looked mockingly at life itself,
And won't bless a single thing
In the whole universe.
А.С. Пушкин "Демон"