Исповедь, V - пер. М. Ю. Лермонтова

V

I don't pray about freedom,
I'm not afraid of skies or hell;
Let the eternal grief just smash me,
Of no matter! Never shall
I meet her! The first day
Of our departing terrible became,
A century and one eternal age!
And if the paradise would be in front
All opened by the unearthly force,
I should ask certainly there the guards,
Standing before the gates, about love:
Are there exist among the saints
My Eden's hopes, lost before?
Oh, don't stop me, don't object...
What is Eden, the earth - without her?
They are the only empty words,
Though ringing loudly,
The shining church,
Though without idol!
Alas! Give her to me back and again -
Her lovely smile and her fair look,
Her sweet voice and her lips such fresh,
As dream, inpropable, delightful...
Only faint sound one, please, give me back...
What is the paradise? Oh! Old chap!