Poet Romanov Biography

I am a cheerful run again, delighted, I will heed. The streams hacked the fragile ice, the rooks flew back ... Another two or three weeks will pass - and the world will be resurrected, it will bloom. Warm up, oh, the sun, the earth is caressed by your life -giving rays and revive the spring fairy tale deaf deadly of fields! It’s time to wake up from sleeping with the soul: give good and light, spring, and I in the fight against evil and darkness!

With a hidden sadness and joy of a clear heart, it will be sweet in the chest: a lot of happiness is excited in the life of the beautiful, I don’t know the spring ahead. Let it return the Earth annually a snow -white lily of the valley color, - the ghost of old age beckons the cold hand: there is no repetition for young days. But it is not a pity to leave the earthly dwelling: there, in an unknown heart, they blossomed the beauties and lighter, and cleaner than the cute lily of the valley of the poor earth.

Shurinov, spring waters are running ... The blinded sky warmed up the fields. Winter grief, for a long time painful, wants to cry. The dawns are full-time, with a misery of Mley languidly, drive away thousands of trains, cold-dark, long winter night. Swallows, a thirst for a date, drawn, dear children of spring, you, who have returned to the nest, will take the happiness of dreams.

Apple tree, brushing off, snow -white brown brings; Oh, how captivating the freshness of the gentle, how good is it! Gray you are us, the sun; shine dazzling a cold per shift and darkness; Let me enjoy the in the spring of a delightful, let me forget about winter. But if, after the grief, happiness will smile again, do we thank with touching, with all my heart, by all thought we are God's mercy and love?

She is languishing and enchants us again ... Oh, say: or there is no word to express everything that is full of soul? On such a night you can’t control yourself, your heart is ready to break out of your chest! Our autumn is full of charm: how much charms in the sad, lifeless days of this meek are the pores of wilting! The air is moist and fresh, the sheets fly around, the clouds are covered with the azure of the sky, the flowers are fading unprofitably, meekly, and nature is waiting for winter.

Is this the bliss of this to blame the silence, where such humility before death? It would also be peacefully forever to fall asleep, without a vain struggle, fading away! It is more painful to absorb such judgments than sadness and sorrow from those who instant enthusiasm will happen to fall into an insignificant sin. We are not all guilty in many ways, aren't all the brothers in Christ?

Are everyone sinful before God, for us crucified on the cross? Oh, I will never violate once a vow given to them: love warms my soul, it is life and light to me. Without knowing tired, neither laziness, brave to the goal, I am a saint, I strive to kneel before eternal beauty. In the quiet silence of the night from the image, in the sadness of the holy, the Mother of God, the eyes mely watching you.

How much participation in the gaze of these sad eyes! As if they were led by a grief of your future life. Quickly winged time, inevitable hour will break through; You will accept a heavy burden of grief, labor and worries. If you were faithful to the treasure of good, simple antiquity; Be always by the hope of our native side! With faith firmly, blindly honestly live your age!

With heart, mind and soul, Russian you be a man! Let you during the years of doubt, at the time of anxiety and adversity, serve as an example of patience our Orthodox people. Back! The years of confusion and storms have not yet come! The back, not knowing sorrow, eyes, baby, prying! .. Dullly flickers the lamp in front of the holy icon ... the back is careless and sweet, sleep, my son, dear!

A few shaky porch steps, colored glasses in the doorway; Shops along the walls, tile stove in low, dark canopies; The room has a chairs with a slender upholstery, an image with a lamp in the corner, books on the shelves, a fireplace, a piano, a soft carpet on the floor ... in this room and winter, and summer so many colors on the window ... As I am familiar and cute, how dear to me!

Young dreams! Happy meetings in the field and in the darkness of the forest ... In the evening, long, quiet speeches nearby, at the tea table ... years past, best years, alien troubles and anxieties! Clear days of silence and freedom! Peaceful, native corner! Now, now, the burden of indispensable losses on the heart ... Where is this good old time? Where is this happiness now?

That smell of linden color, I inhaled it, inhaled it! Those days of warmth and light passed, when the whole world was fragrant, when there was so much fragrant peas under the window ...

And now my path is covered with a leaf, my birches are yellow, my garden is crumbling ... And it gives me up: is this rainbow outfit, which, like in a fairy tale, was an earth, all this splendor, all these colors, all these colors! In the military hospital, the darling was lying for a long time; This soldier’s life gradually had a heavy ailment ... He was torn off early from his family: his mother cried bitterly, it is difficult to describe the whole depth of maternal sadness with a pen!

With an inexpressible, longing in her husband’s eyes, the wife hugged; She drank a full bowl of great grief early. And the boy-baby breast boy extended to him with a weeping with a weeping ... ... From sight, his native huts disappeared, he left the edge of his dear. He was appointed to the guard, in the infantry, in our regiment along the long journey; They passed him to the sovereign company to the tsarist service to carry.In appearance, he was a newborn, slender and tall, blood with milk, a blush, brisk, smart, alive in the whole cheek; With a barely noticeable fluff above his lips, with an honest open face, Russian hair, with blue eyes, well, well done well done.

He was at the bail at the corporal, he got used to the fate of the new, adopted to military science, the student was an estimated. He was already considered an old soldier, he became a favorite of the regiment; In this Izmailovts, who would recognize the man! He impeccably in any outfit served his service, and in shooting soon in the first category, the company recorded it.

We would in the training team in the winter to teach him, and prepared, he would have returned again in the spring in the company; The glorious over time would be a platoon. But those dreams have not come true! He melted, like a candle, little by little in our harsh edge; Mildly, meekly, he gave his soul to the Lord God. He died away from his native village, died in separation from his family, without maternal blessing this soldier is young.

These eyes were not closed with a gentle, delicate hand, and not a single tears spilled about that life of the life! The regiment about the death was notified, - the troubles with the dead went: they put a uniform in the old one, put it in a coffin and demolished the chapel. The platoon was dressed up from us to take the body in a military hospital ... Clouds rushed along the sky in the morning of his funeral; A snow blizzard with a mournful cry of such, crying about the fate of our friend, as if sobbing over him!

Carried out the coffin; They tied it on the drogs, and along the thin pavement, the gray nag was dragged by a knit by a familiar road. Behind and we wandered over the gate to at least reach the corner: everywhere to the first turn, we had to follow the coffin. We looked drogam after, looked for a long time with sadness of dumb ... We crossed the hats and turned home ... People of others would be inflated deeply in the frozen earth, there, behind the outpost, where the winds only howl, somewhere in the wilderness far away.

But, you are our comrade, lonely! The back, rest in this grave raw and deep! Eternal memory to you! Smoza of Smerdi, on August 22, Nadezhda Polevitskaya sings. Music: Ya. Ordinary picture: COO-where Birch Forest, an boundless plain, swamp, clay and sand. Let all this is dull, ugly, and poorly; Let all this were familiar to us a long time ago, we could not stop at these even fields ...

Oh, the north, my darling, oh, north, my homeland! I can’t believe that we will not take away the memories of life to the coffin; That death, having interrupted forever and joy and suffering, will put us in oblivion with a heavy sleep. Opening somewhere there, will the eyes blind and ears will losing his ear forever? And the memory of the former in the darkness of the afterlife will not preserve the liberated spirit?

Rafael, in that time, waking up the light, did you forget the Sistine Madonna? Can't be! No, everything that is holy and beautiful, saying goodbye to life, we will survive and do not forget, no! But cleanly, but impassively we will love again, merging with the deity! I told myself more than once: leave, do not pay attention! Look: Isn't each of us an imperfect creature?

We are victims of weak fate, our misconduct are so clear: the rose even has spikes, and there are spots on the sun itself. But no, let the mind repeat his! The soul does not put up with reason, and my poor heart languishes with my longing and anger. And in vain you are looking for rhymes and words, you call inspiration in vain, and irritated, in an embittered I cannot write poetry!

Music: P. But what am I luxury, gold, power and strength? Isn’t the same impartial grave to swallow all the tinsel shine, and everything that has been flattered by our appearance here, like the waves of an instant surge? There is a different, divine, priceless, in life for me all the Holys, and not a single treasure of the Universe will replace his soul: then my song! .. Let the sounds of my poems in the hearts of human crowds, let them do mournful and please a happy soul!

When the sounds of the inspired song are reached by human hearts, then I boldly of the glory of a well -deserved acceptable crown. But even if I don’t have a noble family, that the royal in me streams blood, the native Orthodox people I will earn trust and love, but by the fact that Russian songs, relatives I will sing unmolly to the end and that the sort of mother of Russia will commit a sacred feat to the singer.

There were no secrets from the pseudonym: the verses were preceded by portraits and articles, and the author was awarded the title of Honorary Academician of the Imperial Academy of Sciences that he himself headed for the president’s post for 20 years. Modest initials instead of the royal surname emphasized that poetry classes are a private business of a state man.

The first book “Poems by K. Maikov, Polonsky. She caused poetic initiations and responses in letters - enthusiastic and not quite objective. Having believed in his talent, the Grand Duke began to print everything that came out of the pen: he imitated a love, landscape lyrics in it - from A. Tolstoy to Nekrasov, salon poems, translations from Shakespeare, Schiller, Goethe, and soon took a strong place in literature.

Melodic banal stanzas easily turned into romances.