Her husband, clubman come whatever,
Is just as meek and deaf, it's true,
And still consumes enough for two.
46
Their daughters, after brief embraces,
Look Tanya over good and slow;
In silence Moscow's youthful graces
Examine her from head to toe.
They find her stranger than expected,
A bit provincial and affected,
And somewhat pale, too thin and small,
But on the whole, not bad at all;
Then bowing to innate compassion,
They squeeze her hand and, in the end,
Take Tanya in and call her friend;
They fluff her curls in latest fashion,
And in their singsong tones impart
Their girlish secrets of the heart
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Both others' and their own successes,
Their hopes, and pranks, and maiden dreams;
All innocence, their talk progresses .
Though now and then some gossip gleams.
And then they ask, in compensation
For their sweet flow of revelation,
For
But Tanya, in a kind of trance,
Attends their giddy conversation
Without response and takes no part;
And all the while she guards her heart
With silence and in meditation:
Her cherished trove of tears and bliss
She'll share with none, aloud like this.
48
Tatyana tries to pay attention
When in the parlour guests converse;
But all they ever seem to mention
Is incoherent rot, or worse;
They seem so pallid and so weary,
And even in their slander dreary.
In all the sterile words they use
In arid gossip, questions, news
Not once all day does thought but flicker,
Not even in some chance remark;
The languid mind will find no spark,
The heart no cause to beat the quicker;
And even simple-minded fun
This hollow world has learned to shun!
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