Imitation

Poem By Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

I saw the Death, and she was seating
By quiet entrance at my own home,
I saw the doors were opened in my tomb,
And there, and there my hope was a-flitting
I'll die, and traces of my past
In days of future will be never sighted,
Look of my eyes will never be delighted
By dear look, in my existence last.

Farewell the somber world, where, precipice above,
My gloomy road was a-streaming,
Where life for me was never cheering,
Where I was loving, having not to love!
The dazzling heavens' azure curtain,
Beloved hills, the brook's enchanting dance,
You, mourn -- the inspiration's chance,
You, peaceful shades of wilderness, uncertain,
And all -- farewell, farewell at once.

Comments about Imitation

Great poem by great poet so touching indeed on death 10++
No scope to flee away Death is sitting on every single path No place to hide Death is hidden everywhere No opportunity to fly away Death can fly speedy more than light No life can save itself from the death Death can imitate everyone and everything in every way
'Where life for me was never cheering, Where I was loving, having not to love! ' - I can relate to these two lines!
This was a very interesting read
Marvelous poem with much vivid imagery, by a great writier... First line, last word should be 'sitting'. I don't know Russian, but I love how the translator rendered the line, 'The dazzling heavens' azure curtain´',


Rating Card

3,0 out of 5
81 total ratings

Other poems of PUSHKIN

I Loved You

I loved you, and I probably still do,
And for a while the feeling may remain...
But let my love no longer trouble you,
I do not wish to cause you any pain.

The Prophet

Longing for spiritual springs,
I dragged myself through desert sands ...
An angel with three pairs of wings
Arrived to me at cross of lands;

Friendship

What's friendship? The hangover's faction,
The gratis talk of outrage,
Exchange by vanity, inaction,

Lyric Written In 1830

What means my name to you?...T'will die
As does the melancholy murmur
Of distant waves or, of a summer,
The forest's hushed nocturnal sigh.

May 26, 1828

Gift haphazard, unavailing,
Life, why were thou given me?
Why art thou to death unfailing
Sentenced by dark destiny?