The Demon

The Demon

In days, when all earthly impressions

Where utter novelty for me –

And looks of maids and noise of groves,

And nightingale’s plea, –

When highly elevated senses,

The love, the liberty, the pride

And arts’ fancies

Such strongly aggravated blood –

Having filled time of bliss and hopes

With sudden bitterness of pine,

Some genius of the evil scopes

Began invade a realm of mine.

Our meetings were all sad and secret, dismal

His smile and ever charming look,

His speeches’ endless evil ringlet,

Poured poison in my soul’s brook

– Aleksandr Pushkin



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