Eugene Onegin ( without commentary )

XXXIII

She takes no notice of the sunrise; she sits with lowered head and on the letter does not 4 impress her graven seal. But, softly opening the door, now gray Filatievna brings her tea on a tray. 8 " 'Tis time, my child, get up; why, pretty one, you're ready! Oh, my early birdie!

I was so anxious yesternight- 12 but glory be to God, you're well! No trace at all of the night's fret! Your face is like a poppy flower."