Or Eden's joys for us are moot.
28
How changed Tatyana is!
How surely She's taken up the role she plays!
How quick she's mastered, how securely,
Her lordly rank's commanding ways!
Who'd dare to seek the tender maiden
In this serene and glory-laden
Yet once he'd moved her heart to tears!
Her virgin brooding once had cherished
Sweet thoughts of him in darkest night,
While Morpheus still roamed in flight;
And, gazing at the moon, she'd nourished
A tender dream that she someday
Might walk with him life's humble way!
29
To love all ages yield surrender;
But to the young its raptures bring
A blessing bountiful and tender
As storms refresh the fields of spring.
Neath passion's rains they green and thicken,
Renew themselves with joy, and quicken;
And vibrant life in taking root
Sends forth rich blooms and gives sweet fruit.
But when the years have made us older,
And barren age has shown its face,
How sad is faded passion's trace! . . .
Thus storms in autumn, blowing colder,
Turn meadows into marshy ground
And strip the forest bare all round.
30
Alas! it's true: Eugene's demented,
In love with Tanya like a boy;
He spends each day and night tormented
By thoughts of love, by dreams of joy.
Ignoring reason's condemnation,
Each day he rides to take his station
Outside her glassed-in entryway,
Then follows her about all day.
He's happy just to be around her,
To help her with her shawl or furs,
To touch a torrid hand to hers,
To part the footmen who surround her
In liveried ranks where'er she calls,
Or fetch her kerchief when it falls.
31
She pays him not the least attention,
No matter what he tries to do;
At home receives him without tension;
