Eugene Onegin

Dedication¹

Tired of amusing proud society,

Grown fonder of my friends’ regard,

I would have wanted with due piety

To offer you a pledge, dear bard,

More worthy of your soul’s perfection,

Full of a holy reverie,

Of poetry and clear reflection,

Of high thoughts and simplicity;

But so be it – let your affection

Accept these chapters and their rhymes,

Half-comic and half-melancholic,

Ideal and down-to-earth bucolic,

The careless fruit of leisure times,

Of sleepless nights, light inspirations,

Of immature and withered years,

The intellect’s cold observations,

The heart’s impressions marked in tears.