by Leonid Pasternak
“I Don’t Deplore the Years…”
I don’t deplore the years of my spring,
Where dreams and life were never in connection,
I don’t deplore the nights’ mysterious ring,
Sang by a lyre in a fiery passion.
I don’t deplore the false and faithless friends,
The wreaths of feasts, the bowls of the parties,
I don’t deplore the beautiful adulteries –
A thoughtful stranger, I avoid these trends.
But where’s the time of gentle inclination,
Of hearty silence and young hopes’ strings?
Where are the flame and tears of inspiration?
Come back again, the years of my spring!