Alexander Pushkin, ‘Autumn’
1799-1837, Russian Poet
October has arrived - and now the grove
Has shed its final leaves from naked boughs.
The autumn cold has blown – and frozen roads.
Behind the mill the burbling brook still sounds.
But now the pond is still. My neighbor goes
Off to the distant field to hunt. His hounds
Will wake the woods with all their barking noise,
As winter wheat is crushed by frenzied joys.
Men often curse chill autumn‘s final days
But I, my dear reader, always see with love
Her gentle beauty, with its somber blaze,
She touches me the way a child does,
For whom none cares. And frankly I must say,
That fall’s the only time of year I love;
She’s kind and good; and in her I discover
A wayward dream to charm a humble lover.
Translated by James E. Falen
From ‘Selected Lyrical Poetry’ (2009)