To a poet

Перевод А. С. Пушкина "Поэту"

(sonnet)

Poet! do not prize highly public love.
Exalted praises’ fleeting noise comes to an end;
You’ll hear the fool’s verdict and the crowd’s laugh:
But you, stay sullen, calm and self-contained.

You are a king: live singly. By free ways
Go, wherever your free mind is yearning,
Perfecting the results of learning
And for a noble deed demanding no praise.

It is in you alone. You are your highest law;
Stricter than anyone you can appraise your score.
Are you content with it, exigent master?

Content? Well, let the crowd curse it then and spit
On the altar where your fire is lit
And shake your easel in its childish fluster.