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


Although her load is sometimes heavy,

The coach moves at an easy pace;

The dashing driver, gray-haired time

Drives on, secure upon his box.

At dawn we gaily climb aboard her

We’re ready for a crazy ride,

And scorning laziness and languor,

We shout: “Get on, there! Don’t delay!’

But midday finds our courage wane,

We’re shaken now: and at this hour

Both hills and dales inspire dread.

We shout: “Hold on, drive slower, fool!”

The coach drives on just as before;

By eve we are used to it,

And doze as we attain our inn.

While Time just drives the horses on.

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