Eugene Onegin

In public speaks a word or two,

Or sometimes merely bows on meeting,

Or passes by without a greeting:

She's no coquette in any part

The monde abhors a fickle heart.

Onegin, though, is fading quickly;

She doesn't see or doesn't care;

Onegin, wasting, has the air

Of one consumptivewan and sickly.

He's urged to seek his doctors' view,

And these suggest a spa or two.

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But he refused to go. He's ready

To join his forebears any day;

 Tatyana, though, stayed calm and steady

 (Their sex, alas, is hard to sway).

And yet he's stubborn . . . still resistant,

Still hopeful and indeed persistent.

Much bolder than most healthy men,

He chose with trembling hand to pen

The princess an impassioned letter.

Though on the whole he saw no sense

 In missives writ in love's defence

(And with good cause!), he found it better

Than bearing all his pain unheard.

So here's his letter word for word.

Onegin's Letter to Tatyana

I know you'll feel a deep distress

At this unwanted revelation.

 What hitter scorn and condemnation

Your haughty glance may well express!

 What aims . . . what hopes do

I envision In opening my soul to you?

 What wicked and deserved derision

Perhaps I give occasion to!

When first I met you and detected

A warmth in you quite unexpected,

I dared not trust in love again:

I didn 't yield to sweet temptation

And had, it's true, no inclination

To lose my hateful freedom then.

What's more: poor guiltless Lensky perished,

And his sad fate drew us apart. ..

From all that I had ever cherished

I tore away my grieving heart;

Estranged from men and discontented,

I thought: in freedom, peace of mind,

A substitute for joy I'd find.

How wrong I've been! And how tormented!