Worse Than an Idyl

Worse than an idyl and colder than an ode,
A misanthrope – by Hell, by Silliness – a bard –
In what a terrible and quite mischievous mode
Has Nature raised her ugly ward!
You are afraid of men, as of some deathly illness,
Oh, miserable sample of the appalling dream!
Be joyuos, evil fool! You will be ne’er sun-beamed
By love or friendship through existence.

By Alexander Pushkin
Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, March 28, 2005