Mikhail Lermontov — The Dream

In noon's heat, in a dale of Dagestan

With lead inside my breast, stirless I lay;

The deep wound still smoked on; my blood

Kept trickling drop by drop away.

On the dale's sand alone I lay. The cliffs

Crowded around in ledges steep, 

And the sun scorched their tawny tops

And scorched me - but I slept death's sleep.

And in a dream I saw an evening feast

That in my native land with bright lights shone;

Among young women crowned with flowers, 

A merry talk concerning me went on.

But in the merry talk not joining, 

One of them sat there lost in thought, 

And in a melancholy dream

Her young soul was immersed - God knows by what.

And of a dale in Dagestan she dreamt;

In that dale lay the corpse of one she knew;

Within his breast a smoking wound showed black, 

And blood ran in a stream that colder grew.