Михаил Лермонтов Родина Lermontov Motherland

I love my Motherland, but with a strange love in heart!
My mind's comprehension won't conquer this.
Nor the glory, that was bought with blood,
Nor, being full of the proud confidence, the peace,
Nor the cherished myths of the dark antiquity's past
Does in me stir indeed so cheerful dreaming at last.

I love — and I don't know myself what for at least, —
I love the chilly silence of Her vast steppes,
I love Her boundless fresh forests' swingings and claps,
I love the floods of Her rivers, that are like seas;
I love to ride along the country roads in a cart,
With a slow turn of my gaze piercing the night's shade,
Sighing for lodging, I love to meet on sides apart
The sad villages' lights, that are trembled and swayed.
I love the smoke of the burnt stubble,
In steppe, the overnight carts' chain,
On hill, in yellow field, a couple
Of bleaching birches; with joy main,
Which is unknown to many, and more,
I see a full barnyard, so loved,
A hut under the rooftop of straw,
A window with the shutters carved;
And on a festive dewy evening,
Till midnight I'm fit to see then
Dance with stomps, whistles, under streaming
Folk local talks of drunken men.

13-14 Осtober, 2024

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Russian poet Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov Русский писатель и поэт: Лермонтов, Михаил Юрьевич
Author: A. I. Klunder Автор: А. И. Клюндер
Date: 1838
Source: Wikimedia Commons