Wanderer - Pushkin

I.

One day wandering among the wild valley,
Nezapno I was seized with great sorrow
And the burden depressed and bent over,
Like that, who is on trial in the murder of convicted.
Potupya head, wringing her hands in anguish,
I poured screams pierced the soul of flour
And bitterly repeated, metayas how sick:
"What shall I? What will become of me?»

II.

And so I'm complaining to his house came back.
Discouragement my all was not clear.
When children and wife first, I was quiet
And gloomy thoughts wanted to conceal from them;
But grief from hour to hour I hesitate to Bole;
And the heart finally revealed I perforce.

"O mountains, we mountains! You, children, you are his wife! —
I said, - Veda; My soul is full
Anguish and terror, painful burden
Tyagchit me. is! too close, close time:
Our city of flame and wind doomed;
He is in the coals and ash suddenly be facing
And we all perish, Kohl did not have time soon;
find refuge; And where? the mountains, above!»

III.

My family came into confusion
And sanity in me upset pochli.
but thought, that night and sleep quiet healing
Oholodyat me hostile heat illness.
I went to, but still I am crying and sighing all the night
And not for a moment closed his eyes hard not.
One morning I was sitting, leave bed.
They came to me; their question, I, too,
that before, spoke. Here my neighbors,
Do not trust me, for granted pochli
Resort to austerity. They are fierce
I was on the right path and swearing and contempt
We tried to draw. But I, not heeding them,
All wept and sighed, discouragement closely.
Finally they were tired from screaming
And from me, waved, apostatized
As of mad, whose speech and wild mourning
tiresome, and who need a doctor harsh.

IV.

I went again to roam - disheartened sputters
And round the eyes themselves with the fear of paying,
as a prisoner, a plan of escape from prison,
Ile traveler, hurrying to rain overnight.
The spiritual worker - dragging their fetters,
I met a young man, reading a book.
He quietly looked up - and inquired of me,
About what, wandering alone, I cry so bitterly?
And I answered him: "Know My lot spiteful:
I was sentenced to death and was called to the court beyond the grave -
And that's what crushes; the court I'm not ready,
And death scares me. "
- «If your lot is as follows, —
he said, - and you're so miserable in fact,
Why are you waiting for? Why not escape henceforth?»
And I: "Where did flee? how do I choose the path?»
Then: "Do not you see, tell, something "-
The young man said to me,, distance ukazuya finger.
I began to look painful eye-Hole,
As a doctor from cataracts rid blind.
"I see a light", - I said finally.
"Go Well, - he continued; - you hold this light;
Let him be to you a unique meta,
Until you close the gates of salvation is not achieved,
Go!"- And I set off to run at the same moment.

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Vladimir Mayakovsky
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