The Sail By Mikhail Lermontov
There's far away white lonely sail
in fog of sea that knows no end!
What does it look here, in this veil?
What did it leave in native land?
The wind is whistling - waves are playing
And mast is bending with its creak,
Alas, it looks no joy betraying
itself, it runs no joy. It's sick.
Its frame's adorned with light of azure
The sun gold beams is for its bliss,
But this one's rebel looks for pleasure
in tempest, here it looks for peace.
P.S. My dear reader, this post is my translation of a poem Parus by Mikhail Lermontov. Unfortunately, I couldn't post it in special topic dedicated to this great poet.
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