Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov Cold Poems

  • 1.
    Palm branch of Palestine, oh tell me,
    In that far distant home-land fair,
    Wast rooted in the mountain gravel
    Or sprung from some vale garden rare?
    ...
  • 2.
    A little oak leaf tore off from its branch
    Was driven o'er the steppe by a cruel gale;
    Dried up and withered from the cold, the heat and sorrow
    It finally alit by the Black Sea shore.
    ...
  • 3.
    Cold hears thy soul the praise or cursing of posterity.
    Quit of the human race, thou man of destiny!
    They only could o'erthrow, who thee did elevate--
    Forever thus remains thy greatness great!
    ...
  • 4.
    It's boring and sad, and there's no one around
    In times of my spirit's travail...
    Desires!...What use is our vain and eternal desire?..
    While years pass on by - all the best years!
    ...
  • 5.
    With sadness I survey our present generation!
    Their future seems so empty, dark, and cold,
    Weighed down beneath a load of knowing hesitation,
    In idleness stagnating, growing old.
    ...
  • 6.
    By gates of an abode, blessed,
    A man stood, asking for donation,
    A beggar, cruelly oppressed
    By hunger, thirst and deprivation.
    ...
  • 7.
    With winged footsteps now I hasten
    Unto the far cold North away,
    Kasbek,--thou watchman of the East,
    To thee, my farewell greetings say!
    ...
  • 8.
    â??...Cold and regretless shalt thou view this sphere,
    Where crimeâ??s inseparable from fate,
    Where beauty only blossoms to grow sear,
    Where all is miserable, where, without fear
    ...
  • 9.
    The Poet's dead! - a slave to honor -
    He fell, by rumor slandered,
    Lead in his breast and thirsting for revenge,
    Hanging his proud head!...
    ...
Total 9 Cold Poems by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov

Top 10 most used topics by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov

Heart 14 Soul 12 I Love You 11 Love 11 God 10 Cold 9 Sun 8 Alone 8 Peace 8 Earth 8

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Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
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And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
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