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To * * * (E. A. Poe)

As many readers have unanimously declared, this is everyone’s favourite poem by E. A. Poe – after The Raven, of course! However, the Russian translations of which I was aware did not convey the poem’s original rhythm and meter, so this became my challenge. After several different attempts I hope I have succeeded. And it is a good addition to the Literature label.

I heed not that my eathly lot
Hath little of Earth in it;
That years of love have been forgot
In the hatred of a minute.
I mourn not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate,
Who am a passer-by.

Пусть слишком тяжек для Земли
Вес моего удела;
Отвергнуты года любви
В одну минуту гнева;
Пускай отчаянные все
Счастливее меня;
Жалеешь странника во мне, –
Об этом плачу я.

Julia Shuvalova © 2006

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