Turgenev girl

I don't like languor
Your crossed hands,
And quiet modesty,
And bashful fright.

The heroine of Turgenev's novels,
You arrogant, gentle and pure,
You so much besboro-autumn
From the Avenue where the circle leaves.

Never believe
Before not consider, will not smerica,
Never go
Since the map routes will not find.

And you alien the mad hunter,
That, having ascended a naked rock,
In a drunken happiness, in anguish unaccountable
Directly in the sun and let the arrow fly.

Nikolai Gumilev