Best Lermontov Poems

1.
I go out alone on road I'm stranger;
Through the fog siliceous way shines bright;
It is quiet. Waste hears the God, He's stager,
And the star speaks with the star at night.
                     2.
Skies are filled with triumph,...

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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...

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Guv, tell me, not without the reason
our Moscow in the fired treason
was burnt and left for French.
Oh, there were fights I see their splendours 
so awesome and we have the embers,
No wonder Russia still remembers
Borodino’s black trench!

It was the time there were the people,
The modern tribe looks like some cripple,
They’re Heroes they’re not you.
Their fate...

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And when the sky turned light and rosy
All started fussy fast and noisy,
Line by the line had shown.
Our colonel’s born as dashing fellow,
Tsar’s servant; dad for soldiers. Bellow
spread after wound – not voice of cello,
So pity, now he’s gone.

He told us with the eyes of fire:
“Guys! Moscow is behind” and prayer
said for Moscow here we’ll...

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Golden little cloud had night for sleeping
on the bosom of the giant mount,
Early morning took it without sound
playing azure; and old mount's keeping
dewy trace in wrinkles like some present.
There is nothing else, there's mount only,
It is pensive deeply, it is lonely,
It is crying quietly in the desert.

P.S. This is my translation of poem by Mikhail...

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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...

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our dying kiss
two babies were born
with flying wings...

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only the summer heat
spreads its stifling waves
on my pony face, as a
smart haze,
hunting my craze

lazy, sticky heatwaves
hit my face
knock me
down
on the ground
like a drowsy fly

i open one eye,
i still can see its
                       ...

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