Here you will find the Poem May 26, 1828 of poet Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Gift haphazard, unavailing, Life, why were thou given me? Why art thou to death unfailing Sentenced by dark destiny? Who in harsh despotic fashion Once from Nothing called me out, Filled my soul with burning passion Vexed and shook my mind with doubt? I can see no goal before me; Empty heart and idle mind. Life monotonously o'er me Roars, and leaves a wound behind.
