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“Love is for every age auspicious, But for the virginal and young Its impulses are more propitious Like vernal storms on meadows sprung: They freshen in the rain of passion, Ripening in their renovation – And life, empowered, sends up shoots Of richest blooms and sweetest fruits. But at a late age, dry and fruitless, The final stage to which we’re led, Sad is the trace of passions dead: Thus storms in autumn, cold and ruthless, Transform the field into a slough, And strip the trees from root to bough.” — Alexander Pushkin
Love is for every age auspicious,
But for the virginal and young
Its impulses are more propitious
Like vernal storms on meadows sprung:
They freshen in the rain of passion,
Ripening in their renovation –
And life, empowered, sends up shoots
Of richest blooms and sweetest fruits.
But at a late age, dry and fruitless,
The final stage to which we’re led,
Sad is the trace of passions dead:
Thus storms in autumn, cold and ruthless,
Transform the field into a slough,
And strip the trees from root to bough.