The Cliff by Mikhail Lermontov.

Translated by Dmitri Smirnov

.

Once upon a time a Golden Cloud
On the bosom of a Cliff was sleeping
By sunrise it with a breeze was sweeping
Gaily playing with its azure shroud;

But some traces of the cloud were seeping
To the craggy wrinkles. In the desert
The Cliff stood and mused without comfort
Deeply thinking, desperately weeping.