Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov. (№ 364464)

And to think that I used to,
My cross I bear without murmurs:
Ile another punishment?
Yet that's not one. I was diagnosed with this;
The fate of a Turk or a Tatar
For all I exactly grateful;
God's happiness is not asking
And silently tolerate evil.
Perhaps, heaven of the East
Me with the teachings of their Prophet
Involuntarily brought together. Though
And life were often nomadic,
Works, care night and day,
All consideration interfering with,
Results in the primitive form
The sick soul: heart is sleeping,
Space there is no imagination...
And no work the head...