"Confession" by Alexander Pushkin

Lisa remembers a fragment of the poem "Confession" (1826) by Alexander Pushkin.

I love you though with rage I seethe,

Though it is shameful, futile wholly,

And to my miserable folly

I am confessing at your feet!

Yes, at my age it’s unbecoming…

It’s time I wisened up enough!

But signs are certainly forthcoming

Of sickness in my soul called love:

Without you, dear, I‘m bored and yawning;

With you, I‘m sad and lying low.

I cannot take more of this yearning:

My angel, I do love you so!

When from the parlor, I imagine,

I hear your steps or rustling dress

Or voice so innocent and virgin,

I lose my mind, I must confess.

You look and smile — I gladly watch you;

You look and frown — I’m sorely sad;

My prize for one whole day of torture

Is but your pale and weightless hand.

When on a tambour, having lowered

Your eyes and locks, you’re easing forward

To give the work your thoughtful mind,

I’m docile, moved; I can’t be bothered

And watch in wonder like a child!

Should I explain my grief unfettered

And jealous misery the day

When out to stroll in nasty weather

You're bent on going, come what may?

Your crying when you’re by your lonesome,

Our chats in private, one-on-one,

Trips to Opochka in a foursome,

And nightly piano playing fun?

Alina, I implore, have mercy!

I can’t make bold to claim your love.

My angel, I have sinned enough:

Perhaps, of no one’s love I’m worthy!

But make-believe! Please, all I need

Is just one glance that makes things lovely!

You could deceive me even bluntly!

And I am game for self-deceit!

Source: RusVerses.com