Александр Сергеевич Пушкин

One of my favorite poets wrote these words long ago. Well, he wrote them in Russian. This is the translation.

I loved you; even now I may confess,
Some embers of my love their fire retain;
But do not let it cause you more distress,
I do not want to sadden you again.

Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet I loved you dearly
With pangs the jealous and the timid know;
So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,
I pray God grant another love you so.


Ran across this poem again this week, stuck in my poetry journal. Amazing how words can bring up the past so quickly.

Makes me want to monitor my words and say things that will only bring back joy, and never pain. I also want to know.. does love ever really die? Or will there always be embers?

This much I do not know.

1 comment:

holamickey said...

Crazy Jenn!! I hope the horsey got something besides flowers and stripes... maybe something manly like... a ball.

Well your poem was touching... No love never dies...once it punches its hole there is always a mark. This is me waxing elequent! That is the miracle of love it "loves" to grow back at the next opportunity. In the end I too admit, "this much I do not know." Love is beautiful!