Eugene Onegin ( without commentary )

44
Chapter Six
XX

On coming home his pistols he inspected, then back into their case he put them, and, undressed, 4 by candle opened Schiller; but there's one thought infolding him; the sad heart in him does not slumber:

Olga, in beauty 8 ineffable, he sees before him. Vladimir shuts the book, takes up his pen; his verses full of love's nonsense-sound 12 and flow. Aloud he reads them in a lyric fever, like drunken D[elvig] at a feast.