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Pushkin - I Still Recall the Wondrous Moment

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To ***
I still recall the wondrous moment:
When you appeared before my sight
As though a brief and fleeting omen,
Pure phantom in enchanting light.

In sorrow, when I felt unwell,
Caught in the bustle, in a daze,
I fell under your voice’s spell
And dreamt the features of your face.

Years passed and gales had dispelled
My former hopes, and in those days,
I lost your voice’s sacred spell,
The holy features of your face.

Detained in darkness, isolation,
My days began to drag in strife.
Without faith and inspiration,
Without tears, and love and life.

My soul attained its waking moment:
You re-appeared before my sight,
As though a brief and fleeting omen,
Pure phantom in enchanting light.

And now, my heart, with fascination,
Beats rapidly and finds revived
Devout faith and inspiration,
And tender tears and love and life.

Andrey Kneller

To ***

A magic moment I remember:
I raised my eyes and you were there,
A fleeting vision, the quintessence
Of all that's beautiful and rare.

I pray to mute despair and anguish,
To vain the pursuits world esteems,
Long did I hear your soothing accents,
Long did your features haunt my dreams.

Time passed. A rebel storm-blast scattered
The reveries that once were mine
And I forgot your soothing accents,
Your features gracefully divine.

In dark days of enforced retirement
I gazed upon grey sky above
With no ideals to inspire me,
No one to cry for, live for, love.

Then came a moment of renaissance,
I looked up - you again were there -
A fleeting vision, the quintessence
Of all that's beautiful and rare.

My heart is feeling celebration,
I did remember it again -
The aim to strive, the inspiration,
And love, and life, and sweet heart pain.

Uknown author

To ***

I still recall that magic instant,
The apparition of your face.
The fleeting vision, very distant,
The essence of the purest grace.

I spent my empty nights just longing,
For your sweet face to reappear,
Your gentle voice that seemed belonging
To other World, not sad one here.

The tempests of the passing years,
Left me without hope and choice,
And I forgot your face, once dear,
Forgot the music of your voice...

And later, in my own prison,
My gloomy days without awe
Were passing by without reason
To live, to cry, to feel, to love.

And suddenly, another vision
Of pure beauty so divine,
Revived my soul like the division
Between that gloom and joy of mine.

My heart again, in resurrection,
Has everything for which to strive,
Divinity and inspiration,
Love, tears, music, feelings, life.

Яновская Серафима Владимировна, 2007

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