FROM 'EUGENE ONIEGIN'

I write to you . . . when that is said 
What more is left for me to say ? 
Now you are free (I know too well) 
To heap contempt upon my head. 
Yet if some sparks of pity dwell 
Within your breast you'll surely not 
Abandon me to my hard lot. 
When first I saw you I desired 
To hold my peace : my shame ('tis true) 
Would ne'er have been revealed to you 
Had life's conditions but inspired 
One gleam of hope that you would come 
To see us in our country home 
From time to time, so that I might 
Hear but one word, catch but one tone, 
And live by dreaming on alone 
Till our next meeting, day and night. 
But then it seemed there was no hope; 
Our rustic quiet bored you so, 
Folk said you were a misanthrope; 
And we?we do not make a show? 
You found us narrow in our scope. 

Why did you come to visit us 
I n this forgotten quiet place ? 
I need not have been tortured thus 
If I had never seen your face. 
My inexperienced heart maybe 
Had grown resigned to this dull life, 
And future years had brought to me 
Some other love?my destiny 
An honoured mother and true wife. 
Another's! Nay, to none on earth 
Could I have given this heart of mine. 
By the decree of the Most High, 
And by Heaven's willing, I am thine. 

Allotted unto you was I 
E'en from the moment of my birth 
And loyal to my future fate; 
And God, I know, sent you to be 
My champion and my advocate 
Till the grave closes over me. . . . 

Oft in my dreams you did appear;
I loved you then before the days
When palpably I saw you here ;
I languished in your wondrous gaze
And in my heart your voice rang clear
Long since. ... It was no dream to me!
You came?at once I understood
This swift confusion in my blood,
While my thoughts whispered : ' Lo, 'tis he.'
Was it not true ? Am I not sure
You spoke with me in hours of peace
When I went visiting my poor,
Or when I strove by prayer to ease
The pain in which my spirit toss'd ?

Was not your image wont to rise 
A vision sweet?too quickly lost? 
To light my gloom ? Did not mine eyes 
See you bend gently o'er my bed ? 
Were not some words low whispered 
Of love and hope ? Now in what guise 
Come you ? As guardian angel good, 
Or tempter in some wily mood ? 
0 speak, and set my doubts at rest! 
What if all this should prove at best 
The empty dream, more light than froth, 
Of a heart simple and untried ? 
Well, be it so! But from henceforth
I must to you my fate confide. 
Must weep my tears about your feet 
And for your sheltering love entreat. 
Picture me now. ... I sit alone 
With none to heed or guess what ails . . . 
And now my very reason fails! 
I wait for you. One glance of yours 
Fresh hope unto my heart restores; 
Or else the cruel dream comes back 
Of merited contempt. . . . Alack! 

[She seals the letter.]

'Tis done! I scarce dare read it through, 
But overcome with shame and fright 
I trust my honour now to you, 
And dare to think I trust aright.