If I walk the noisy streets,
Or enter a many thronged church,
Or sit among the wild young generation,
I give way to my thoughts.
I say to myself: the years are fleeting,
And however many there seem to be,
We must all go under the eternal vault,
And someone's hour is already at hand.
When I look at a solitary oak
I think: the patriarch of the woods.
It will outlive my forgotten age
As it outlived that of my grandfathers'.
If I dandle a young infant,
Immediately I think: farewell!
I will yield my place to you,
For I must fade while your flower blooms.
Each day, and every hour
I habitually follow in my thoughts,
Trying to guess from their number
The year which brings my death.
And where will fate send death to me?
In battle, in my travels, or on the seas?
Or will the neighbouring valley
Receive my chilled ashes?
And although to the senseless body
It is indifferent wherever it rots,
Yet close to my beloved countryside
I still would prefer to rest.
And let it be, beside the grave's vault
That young life forever will be playing,
And impartial, indifferent nature
Eternally be shining in beauty.
by Pushkin
6 comments:
To be very honest...
I didnt understand what this poem try to say bout you.
I tried hard enough.
pls sir....i wanna know
@rk
poem is about life..and its eternal reality...neccessity of moving on and at the same time nostalgia of getting back to roots!!!
Excellent poem Where do u select such poetry from. U are another Wordsworth
I don't think sir that i know anything about poets or poetry.I am just fascinated with nature, its beauty and the capabilities of few of these geniuses to sum it up in a meaningful way to make sense of the chaos which is so much prevalent all around us.
I don't know sir how do i select these..but guess, an interest in literature helped me to learn, understand and comprehend a little bit of mystery, that life is.I just have a deep sense of ignorance and every new day is just an attempt, at reducing my ignorance level.
I don't get much time to read literature but once in a while i keep on reading. first few authors which i read were from Russia and came to know about Pushkin through radio Russia's Hindi service. It was a series telecast on the 200th anniversary of this genius from Russia in 1999.
A very dwelling poem I must say !
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