Poetry Tuesday: Ode on the Hills of Georgia

This small lament by the famous Alexander Pushkin has been translated quite a few ways into English, so I chose my fave, the one that sounds most like a poet wrote it.

Night over Georgia; mist across the heights.
Before me, the Aragva ripples off.
Only my chained and prancing heart’s distress
Remains intense, a pain so filled with you–
Totally you–that all its darkness lights.
How can I help, combustible anew,
But live in love, even a bitter love?–
Being powerless to live in lovelessness.

;o)

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