From the Russian by John Pollen Ya Perezhil Svoï Zhelanya I ’VE overlived aspirings, My fancies I disdain; The fruit of hollow-heartedness, Sufferings alone remain. ’Neath cruel storms of Fate With my crown of bay, A sad and lonely life I lead, Waiting my latest day. Thus, struck by latter cold While howls the wintry wind, Trembles upon the naked bough The last leaf left behind.
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III. Adversity