The Coming Of Winter poem – Alexander Pushkin

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

_Stanzas from “Onegin”_

Our Northern Winter’s fickle Summer,

Than Southern Winter scarce more bland–

Is undeniably withdrawing

On fleeting footsteps from the land.

Soon will the Autumn dim the heavens,

The light of sunbeams rarer grown–

Already every day is shorter,

While with a smitten hollow tone

The forest drops its shadow leafage;

Upon the fields the mists lie white,

In lusty caravans the wild geese

Now to the milder South take flight;

Seasons of tedium draw near,

Before the door November drear!

From shivering mist ascends the morning,

The bustle, of the fields declines,

The wolf walks now upon the highway,

In wolfish hunger howls and whines;

The traveller’s pony scents him, snorting–

The heedful wanderer breathless takes

His way in haste beyond the mountains!

And though no longer when day breaks

Forth from their stalls the herd begins

To drive the kine,–his noon-day horn recalls.

The peasant maiden sings and spins,

Before her crackling, flaming bright

The pine chips,–friend of Winter night.

And see! The hoar frost colder sparkles

And spreads its silver o’er the fields,

Alas! the golden days are vanished!

Reluctant Nature mournful yields.

The stream with ice all frozen over

Gleams as some fashionable parquet,

And thronging hordes of boyish skaters

Sweep forward on its crystal way.

On her red claws despondent swimming,

The plump goose parts the water cold,

Then on the ice with caution stalking

She slips and tumbles,–ah behold!

Now the first snowflake idling down

Stars the depressing landscape brown.

At such a season in the country,

What can a man’s amusements be?

Walk? And but more of empty highway

And of deserted village see?

Or let him through the far Steppes gallop,

His horse can scarcely stand at all–

His stamping hoofs in vain seek foothold,

The rider dreading lest he fall!

So then remain within thy paling,

Read thou in Pradt or Walter Scott,

Compare thy varying editions,

Drink, and thy scoffing mood spare not!

As the long evenings drag away

So doth the Winter too delay.

FROM “ONEGIN”

Sometimes he read aloud with Olga

A latter day romance discreet,

Whose author truly painted nature,

With cunning plot, insight complete;

Oft he passed over a few pages,

Too bald or tasteless in their art–

And coloring, began on further,

Not to disturb the maiden heart.

Again, they sat for hours together,

With but a chess board to divide;

She with her arms propped on the table,

Deep pondering, puzzled to decide–

Till Lenski from his inward storm

Captured her castle with his pawn!

FROM “ONEGIN”

Love condescends to every altar,

Ah when in hearts of youth it springs,

Its coming brings such glad refreshment

As May rain o’er the pasture flings!

Lifted from passion’s melancholy

The life breaks forth in fairer flower,

The soul receives a new enrichment–

Fruition sweet and full of power.

But when on later altars arid

It downward sweeps, about us flows–

Love leaves behind such deathly traces

As Autumn tempests where it blows

To strip the woods with ruthless hand,

And turn to soggy waste the land!

FROM “ONEGIN”

How sad to me is thine appearing,

O Springtime, hour of love’s unrest!

Within the soul what nameless languors!

What passions hid within the breast!

With what a heavy, heavy spirit

From the earth’s rustic lap I feel

Again the joy of Springtide odors–

That once could make my spirit reel!

No more for me such pleasures thrilling,

All that rejoices, that has life,

All that exults,–brings but despondence

To one past passion as past strife,

All is but prose to such as he,

Wearied unto satiety.

Perchance we fain would pass unnoticed

That which in Autumn drooped and pined,

Now radiant in verdure springing,

Since it must of our loss remind;

As with a tortured soul we realize

In Nature’s glad awakening,

That we shall never find renewal,

Who evermore are withering.

Perchance there haunts us in remembrance,

Our own most dear and lyric dream,

Another long forgotten Springtime–

And trembling neath this pang supreme,

The heart faints for a distant country

And for a night beside the sea!

Poetry Monster – Home

A few random poems:

External links

Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

Talking Writing Monster’s Page –

Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

Poems in English 

• The Fault of It poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• The Encounter poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• The Bath-Tub poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Tame Cat poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Taking Leave of a Friend poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Sub Mare poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Statement of Being poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Song of the Bowmen of Shu poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Song in the Manner of Housman poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Song poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Silet poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Sestina: Altaforte poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Salutation poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Quies poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Portrait d’Une Femme poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• In Tempore Senectutis poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Invern poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Ione, Dead the Long Year poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• The Jewel Stairs’ Grievance poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound
• Envoi poem – Ezra Pound poems by Ezra Pound

More external links (open in a new tab):

Russian Commerce Agency

Dealing Monster

Doska or the Board – write anything

Search engines:

Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

Parallel Translations of Poetry

Poems by Author and Category

The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works