The night - per A.S. Pushkin
In silence of the late dark night, which is disturbed by passion’s sweet surrender,
My voice of verse runs fluidly to you like melody: soft, gentle, tender.
The words of poetry - they fly in babble of my song, merged with excitement candor.
Full with my love stream goes on - to you from me: by you enchanted sender.
Sad candle burns placed at my bed - its sparks of flame your lovely image render.
In darkness of the room I see your eyes - they shine with splendor.
And suddenly being in the magic spell I hear sound of your voice:
“My gentle friend, my gentle friend, love you, I am yours, I am yours!“
