Читать книгу Евгений Онегин / Eugene Onegin - Александр Сергеевич Пушкин, Александр Пушкин, Pushkin Aleksandr - Страница 94

Likewise an epitaph with tears

He writes upon his parents’ tomb,

And thus ancestral dust reveres.

Oh! on the fields of life how bloom

Harvests of souls unceasingly

By Providence’s dark decree!

They blossom, ripen and they fall

And others rise ephemeral!

Thus our light race grows up and lives,

A moment effervescing stirs,

Then seeks ancestral sepulchres,

The appointed hour arrives, arrives!

And our successors soon shall drive

Us from the world wherein we live.