Classic Love Poems
| 
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (1799-1837) was a Russian poet and writer. He and his wife, Natalya Goncharova, were regulars at the court of Tsar Nicholas I. His poetry and prose is famous for having a simplicity and naturalness of expression that gives it an almost conversational character. He is widely regarded as the greatest Russian poet and the founder of modern Russian literature. Critics consider his poem, The Bronze Horseman, and his drama, The Stone Guest, to be masterpieces.
“The Black Brunswicker”
by John Everett Millais, 1860
In 1830, Alexander Pushkin married eighteen-year-old Natalia Goncharova. She was a strikingly beautiful girl and one of Moscow’s most famous beauties. [CLICK PHOTO ABOVE FOR LARGER VIEW] Author Vladimir Sollogub wrote: “I have met many beautiful women, but none whose perfection seemed so complete, classical in both her features and her body . . . her presence made all other women fade away, even the most charming. Yet she seemed reserved to the point of coldness, and hardly ever spoke.” During the six years of their marriage, Pushkin and Natalia had four children. The eldest, Maria (b. 1832) was touted as a prototype of Anna Karenina. In 1835, Natalia met a French military officer and politician named Georges-Charles d’Anthés. Two years later, rumors of her alleged affair with d’Anthés resulted in a duel between Pushkin and d’Anthés which left Pushkin mortally wounded. He died two days later.
I Loved You
I loved you—
even now I may confess
Some embers of my love their fire retain
But do not let it cause you more distress—
I do not want to sadden you again.
Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet, I loved you dearly
With pangs the jealous the timid know
So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,
I pray God grant another love you so.
Wondrous Moment
The wondrous moment of our meeting . . .
I well remember you appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty’s angel pure and clear.
In hopeless ennui surrounding
The worldly bustle, to my ear
For long your tender voice kept sounding,
For long in dreams came features dear.
Time passed. Unruly storms confounded
Old dreams, and I from year to year
Forgot how tender you had sounded,
Your heavenly features once so dear.
My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet—
Dull fence around, dark vault above—
Devoid of God and uninspired,
Devoid of tears, of fire, of love.
Sleep from my soul began retreating,
And here you once again appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty’s angel pure and clear.
In ecstasy the heart is beating,
Old joys for it anew revive;
Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting
The fire, and tears, and love alive.
The Night
My voice, to which love lends
A tenderness and yearning,
Disturbs night’s dreamy calm
Pale at my bedside burning,
A taper wastes away
From out my heart there surge
Stift verses, streams of love,
That hum and sing and merge.
And, full of you, rush on,
With passion overflowing.
I seem to see your eyes
That, in the darkness glowing,
Meet mine . . . I see your smile
You speak to me alone:
My friend, my dearest friend
I’m your’s . . . your own.
on “Pushkin, Alexander”
