My friend, it’s time! The heart demands a break — Day after day flies by, and every hour takes A bit of being from us, while you and I Make plans to live together — we may die.   There is no happiness, but there is peace of heart. So many years I’ve dreamt about this part — So many years, a tired slave, I planned my flight Someplace where I will work to my delight.

When, for the mortal one, is stilled the noisy day,     And, on the silent city’s buildings, The easy shadow of night is softly laid,     And sleep – the prize for daily grindings, Then in the silent air they painfully drag on –     My hours, sleepless ones and endless: Bites of the remorse-snake, in my heart, stronger burn     In night’s unquestionable blankness. My fancies boil. My mind, under a pine,     Is overfilled with meditations; Remembrance silently, before sad eyes of mine,     Unrolls its scroll in lines’ successions. And reading with despite the life, I had before,     I curse the world, and tremble, breathless, And bitterly complain, and shed my tears sore,     But don’t wash out the lines of sadness.

"BEHOLD A SOWER WENT FORTH TO SOW"   With freedom's seed the desert sowing, I walked before the morning star; From pure and guiltless fingers throwing — Where slavish plows had left a scar — The fecund seed, the procreator; Но потерял я только время, Oh vain and sad disseminator, I learned then what lost labors are. … Graze if you will, you peaceful nations, Who never rouse at honor's horn! Should flocks heed freedom's invocations? Their part is to be slain or shorn, Their dower the yoke their sires have worn Through snug and sheepish generations.