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Sadly I look at our generation!
His coming - il empty, il dark,
Меж тем, under the burden of cognition and doubt,
At idle, it is old,.
we are rich, barely out of the cradle,
Error of fathers and later their mind,
And life is too tormented us, as a smooth path without a goal,
How strange feast on a holiday.
For good and evil shamefully indifferent,
At the beginning of pursuits we vyanem without a fight;
Before danger shamefully cowardly,
And the authorities - despicable slaves.
So skinny fruit, until the time is ripe,
None of our taste is not pleasing, no eyes,
Hanging between colors, stranger orphaned,
And the hour of their beauty - his downfall hour!

We dried up barren mind by science,
Taya envy of neighbors and friends
Hope the best voice and the noble
Unbelief ridiculed passions.
We barely touched the cup to the delight,
But the young forces, we failed to secure the;
Of every joy, boyasya satiety,
We have the best juice ever extracted.

poetry dream, creating art
Sweet delight our mind does not stir;
We eagerly cherish chest remainder feelings -
Avarice and useless buried treasure.
And we hate, and we love by chance,
Nothing without sacrificing any malice, neither love,
And reigns in the soul of some cold secret,
When the fire boils the blood.
And our ancestors boring luxury fun,
their conscientious, childish depravity;
And we hasten to the tomb without happiness and without glory,
Looking back sarcastically.

Crowd sullen and soon forgotten
Over the world we will pass without noise and wake,
Do not throw the eyelids or thought prolific,
Neither genius started working.
And our dust, to judge the severity and the citizen,
A descendant of a contemptuous insult verse,
Bitter mockery of the deceived son
Above squandered father.

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All poems of Alexander Blok

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