Eugene Onegin ( without commentary )

XXXVIII
XXXIX

And then again: perhaps, an ordinary lot awaited the poet. Years of youth would have elapsed: in him the soul's fire would have cooled. He would have changed in many ways, have parted with the Muses, married, up in the country, happy and cornute, have worn a quilted dressing gown; learned life in its reality, at forty, had the gout, drunk, eaten, moped, got fat, decayed, and in his bed, at last, died in the midst of children, weepy females, and medicos.