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Bunin, "Одиночество"

A poem ("Solitude") by one of Russia's greatest poets. It can be read here in its original.

And wind, and rain, and gloom conform
Above the cold, deserted pool;
‘Tis here that spring restores the norm;
‘Tis then that groves will bloom anew.
In villa’s dark alone I wane
By easel’s shade and fogged pane.

And yesterday you were with me,
But I could only make you sad.
As evening came to stormy lea,
No longer was our union glad.
So then, farewell! Until the spring
Bereft of wife, alone, I sing.

Today clouds race in endless scorch,
Bank after bank they scull the skies.
Your trace upon my rain-swept porch
Is water wrought from your sad eyes.
And I alone can hardly bear
The twilight gloom in greyest flare.

To you I wish my heart might cast:
“Come back, our love shall never die!”
But women feel there is no past:
She loves me not, no kin am I.
Well then, perhaps a hound might do,
A fireside warm, a drink or two.

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