Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov

(1814 - 1841 / Russia)

Meditation


With sadness I survey our present generation!
Their future seems so empty, dark, and cold,
Weighed down beneath a load of knowing hesitation,
In idleness stagnating, growing old.
We have received, when barely finished weaning,
The errors of our sires, their tardiness of mind,
And life oppresses us, a flat road without meaning,
An alien feast where we have dined.
T'ward good and evil shamefully uncaring
We wilt without a fight when starting on life's race;
When danger threatens us - ignoble want of daring,
Before those set on high - despicable and base.
A wizened fruit grown ripe before its hour,
No pleasure to the eye and no delight to taste,
An orphan stranger there, he hangs beside the flower -
The time of its full bloom is his to fall and waste.

For we have dried our brains with fruitless speculations,
Withholding enviously from friends and those ahout
The ringing voice of lofty aspirations
And noble passions, undermined by doubt.
Our lips have barely brushed the cup of delectation,
But youthful strength we did not thus retain;
From every joy we found, in fear of saturation,
We took the best and never came again.
The dreams of poesy, pure art, and its creation
With its sweet ecstasy our senses never move;
We greedily retain the remnants of sensation -
Dug deep and miserly, a useless treasure trove.
And we both love and hate by chance, without conviction,
We make no sacrifice for malice, or for good,
There reigns within our souls a kind of chill constriction,
Whene'er the flame ignites the blood.
The pastimes of our sires we think a boring story,
Their guileless, boyish dissipations unrefined;
We hurry to our graves, unhappy, without glory,
With one last sneering glance behind.

A gloomy throng are we, condemned and soon forgotten,
We pass across the world in silence, without trace,
No thoughts that might bear fruit for ages unbegotten,
No work of genius to inspire the race.
Our ashes will receive a harsh and just portrayal,
Posterity will sneer with skilled and scornful verse,
A curse of bitterness from sons at their betrayal
By their own father's spendthrift purse.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 07, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Form:


Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Meditation by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov )

There is no comment submitted by members..

Famous Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  3. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  4. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  8. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe
Trending Poets
Trending Poems
  1. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  3. Dreams, Langston Hughes
  4. Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
  5. A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
  6. If, Rudyard Kipling
  7. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
  9. Daffodils, William Wordsworth
  10. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
[Hata Bildir]