The Bark By Mikhail Lermontov

According will of wondrous will The realm of passion ousts my real, Like bark that's broken with the wave, That one who found on sand its grave. Let tide caresses lonely frame, The cripple won't accept deceit, It knows, it's weak, it knows, it's lame Pretending that it sleeps, it's split; Nobody will entrust to hull himself or cargo anymore, It's free, it's useless and it's dull, It's dead, it's resting on the shore. P.S. This is my translation of poem of Mikhail Lermontov.