The Noisy Joys of Thoughtless Years Are Spent

 The noisy joys of thoughtless years are spent;
And all, like head confused with drink, is dulled.
But, as with wine, the woe of days gone by
With force more strong than newer woe torments.
A dreary path before me lies. Fresh toils
To drown me in a sea of trouble threat.

 And yet, dear friends of youth, I would not die!
I wish to live, that I may muse and toil;
I feel that joy shall mingle with my woe,
Relieve my care, and heal my doubtings sad
Once more, I'll drink the cup of harmony,
And drown my thoughts in flood of soothing tears;
And, haply, in the setting hour of life
Love's farewell smile shall lighten up the dark.

            —Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (1799-1837)
                (Translation by Charles Edward Turner)