HELP please??????//?

Question

Would please help me to search the poem "Should this life sometime deceive you" by Alexander Sergeevich(1799-1837) in Russia. I couldn't thank you enough ! I couldn't thank you enough
I couldn't thank you enough ! I couldn't thank you enough !

Answer 1

Eugene Onegin

So meanwhile, friends, enjoy your blessing:
This fragile life that hurries so!
Its worthlessness needs no professing,
And I'm not loathe to let it go;
I've closed my eyes to phantoms gleaming,
Yet distant hopes within me dreaming
Still stir my heart at times to flight.
I'd grieve to quit this world's dim light
And leave no trace, however slender.
I live, I write- not seeking fame;
And yet, I think, I'd wish to claim
For my sad lot its share of splendor-
At least one note to linger long,
Recalling, like some friend, my song.


ya vas lubil (1829)

I loved you; and I probably still do,
And for awhile the feeling may remain --
But let my love no longer trouble you:
I do not wish to cause you any pain.
I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew
The jealousy, the shyness -- though in vain --
Made up a love so tender and so true
As may God grant you to be loved again.


esli zhizn'tebja obmanet (1825)

Should this life sometime deceive you,
Don't be sad or mad at it!
On a gloomy day, submit:
Trust -- fair day will come, why grieve you?

Heart lives in the future, so
What if gloom pervade the present?
All is fleeting, all will go;
What is gone will then be pleasant.


kodga v ob'yatiya moi (1830)

When in the heat of my embrace
I capture your elastic figure
And lavish words of loving praise
On you with tenderness and vigor,
Dear friend, you free your slender build
Of my contracted arms in silence,
And to my words sincere and thrilled
Reply with your mistrustful smiling;
Safeguarding in your memory
Sad tales of loyalty's declension,
Without compassion or attention
You listen drearily to me...
I curse my crafty aspirations
Of youth, with all its vain delights,
And waiting for the assignations
In gardens, in the silent nights;
I curse the words' romantic mumble,
Mysterious melodies of verse,
And kisses of believing girls,
And then their tears, and later grumble.


An Elegy written in 1820 aboard (pogaslo dnevnoe svetilo)
the ship carrying the 20-year old
Pushkin to his southern exile.

"Adieu, adieu, my native land!"
Lord Byron

The light of day went out and under;
The fog of evening has descended on the sea.
Obedient sail, keep beating, thunder, thunder;
You gloomy element, keep troubling under me.
I look ahead, in that direction
I can already see the magic southern strand;
With trouble and languishment I speed unto that land,
Elated by a recollection...
I feel: again my eyes are full of newborn tears;
The soul is turning hotter, chillier;
Around me flies a dream, so stirring and familiar;
I have remembered love, mad love of former years,
And all that burned my heart, and all that filled with wonder,
The wearisome desires, the hopes illusory...
Obedient sail, keep beating, thunder, thunder;
You gloomy element, keep troubling under me.
Dash, vessel, carry me to distant territories
By menacing caprice of the deceptive seas...
But not unto the doleful shores
Of my fog-laden homeland, please --
Where flames of passion used to seize
For the first time my budding spirit,
Where tender muses used to smile on me in secret,
Where early, early ceased to bloom
My wasteful youth, so short and stormy,
Where light-winged happiness unfaithfully forswore me
And turned my frigid heart to suffering and gloom.
Resolved to look for new sensations,
I fled you, fatherland, my native earth;
I fled you, fosterlings of delectations,
The momentary friends of momentary youth;
And you too, confidantes of dissolute temptations,
To whom without real love I sacrificed my whole
Tranquility and fame and liberty and soul,
I have forgotten you, fair traitresses, the youthful
Friends of my golden spring, friends secret, friends untruthful --
I have forgotten you... but found no remedy
For the deep wounds of love that tore my heart asunder...
Obedient sail, keep beating, thunder, thunder;
You gloomy element, keep troubling under me...



The Water-Nymph (rusalka) 1819

In lakeside leafy groves a friar
Escaped the world; out there he passed
His summer days in constant prayer,
Deep studies and eternal fast.
Already with a humble shovel
The elder dug himself a grave;
And calling saints to bless his hovel,
Death, nothing other, did he crave.

So once upon a falling night he
Bowed down beside his droopy shack
And meekly prayed to the Almighty.
The grove was turning slowly black;
Above the lake a mist was lifting;
Through milky clouds across the sky
The ruddy moon was softly drifting,
When water drew the friar's eye...

He looks there, puzzled, full of trouble,
A fear he cannot quite explain,
And sees: the waves begin to bubble
And suddenly grow calm again.
Then -- white as first snow in the highlands,
Light-footed as nocturnal shade,
There comes ashore and sits in silence
Upon the bank a naked maid.

She eyes the monk and brushes gently
Her hair and water off her arms.
He shakes with fear and looks intently
At her and at her lovely charms.
With eager hands she waves and beckons,
Nods quickly, smiling from afar,
Then -- shoots within two flashing seconds
Into still water like a star.

The glum old man slept not an instant
All night, all day not once he prayed:
Before his eyes still hung and glistened
The wondrous girl's persistent shade...
The grove puts on the gown of nightfall;
The moon walks on the cloudy floor;
And there's the maiden, pale, delightful,
Reclining on the spellbound shore.

She looks at him, her hair she brushes,
Nods, sends him kisses drolly wild,
Plays with the waves -- caresses, splashes, --
Now laughs, now whimpers like a child,
Moans tenderly, calls louder, louder...
"Come, monk, come, monk! To me, to me!.."
Then -- vanishes in limpid water...
And all is silent instantly...

On the third day the ardent hermit
Was sitting by the shore, in love,
Awaiting the enticing mermaid,
As shade was lying on the grove...
Dark ceded to the sun's emergence;
By then the monk had disappeared,
No one knew where, and only urchins,
While swimming, saw a hoary beard.


To ***


The wondrous moment of our meeting...
I well remember you appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In hopeless ennui surrounding
The worldly bustle, to my ear
For long your tender voice kept sounding,
For long in dreams came features dear.

Time passed. Unruly storms confounded
Old dreams, and I from year to year
Forgot how tender you had sounded,
Your heavenly features once so dear.

My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet --
Dull fence around, dark vault above --
Devoid of God and uninspired,
Devoid of tears, of fire, of love.

Sleep from my soul began retreating,
And here you once again appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In ecstasy the heart is beating,
Old joys for it anew revive;
Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting
The fire, and tears, and love alive.



I loved you - and my love, I think, was stronger
Than to be quite extinct within me yet;
But let it not distress you any longer;
I would not have you feel the least regret.
I loved you bare of hope and of expression,
By turns with jealousy and shyness sore;
I loved you with such purity, such passion
As may God grant you to be loved once more.

- Alexander Pushkin, 1829
translated by Genia Gurarie

Answer 2

The poet's name is actually Aleksandr Sergeevich Pushkin. I don't know of any poem by him with that title.

Answer 3

A Little Bird/Птичка
Demon/Демон
Coach of Life/Телега жизни
To... (Kern)/К... (Керн)
The Prophet/Пророк
The Poet/Поэт
Arion/Арион
Upon the Hills of Georgia/На холмах Грузии...
I loved you once.../Я вас любил...
Talisman/Талисман
Autumn (excerpt)/Осень (отрывок)
Remembrance/Воспоминание

I don't know from which poem your line comes from.
Hope you can trace it from this.

Answer 4

Most of his works are listed here


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aleksandr_Sergeevich_Pushkin