A poem by Alexander Pushkin – Pouchkine, Pooshkin (1799-1837), in English translation

What means my name to you?…T’will die

As does the melancholy murmur

Of distant waves or, of a summer,

The forest’s hushed nocturnal sigh.

Found on a fading album page,

Dim will it seem and enigmatic,

Like words traced on a tomb, a relic

Of some long dead and vanished age.

What’s in my name?…Long since forgot,

Erased by new, tempestuous passion,

of tenderness ’twill leave you not

The lingering and sweet impression.

But in an hour of agony,

Pray, speak it, and recall my image,

And say, “He still remembers me,

His heart alone still pays me homage.”

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