The sounds and sight - Lermontov

ABOUT, full hand to strike
The strings of the harp gold.
Look, as the heart will ask,
Tear rolls of eyes;
Me every sound again brings
Sadness flown days.

No, better with trembling love
His gaze on me to stop,
To fatal remembrance
I'm in this drowned
Yet its existence
In a single moment resettled.

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Boris Pasternak
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