Mikhail Lermontov: 2 Poems

Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov

(Михаи́л Ю́рьевич Ле́рмонтов 1814 – 1841)

 

No, not on you my passion’s bent

 

1

No, not on you my passion’s bent

And not for me your beauty’s splendour;

In you I love what I remember

Of sorrow past and youth misspent.

 

2

And sometimes when I look at you and seek

With steadfast gaze to penetrate your heart

In occult colloquies I bear my part -

But it is with another that I speak.

 

3

I speak then with that long-lost love of mine,

Seek other features in your features’ stead

And, in your living lips, see lips long dead,

And see your eyes with burnt-out ardours shine.

 

 

Not Byron – of a different kind

 

Not Byron – of a different kind

Chosen of fate, yet still unknown,

Outcast as he and driven from home

Yet Russian I – in heat and mind.

 

Earlier begun and earlier done

But slight will my achievement be…

And wrecked hopes lie like sunken suns

In my suol’s depths as in the sea.

 

Who, gloomy ocean depth has told

Your tale of mysteries? And who – if anyone

My thoughts can to the mob unfold?

Why – I myself, or God, or none.

 

Mikhail Lermontov poetry

kempis poetry magazine

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