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7/6/2025, 1:20:35 PM
>Diana’s breast is charming, brothers,
>And Flora’s cheek, I quite agree
>But I prefer above these others
>The foot of sweet Terpsichore.
>It hints to probing, ardent glances
>Of rich rewards and peerless trances;
>Its token beauty stokes the fires,
>The willful swarm of hot desires.
>My dear Elvina, I adore it--
>Beneath the table barely seen,
>In springtime on the meadow’s green,
>In winter with the hearth before it,
>Upon the ballroom’s mirrored floor,
>Or perched on granite by the shore.
>I recollect the ocean rumbling:
>O who I envied then the waves--
>Those rushing tides in tumult tumbling
>To fall about her feet like slaves!
>I longed to join the waves in pressing
>Upon those feet these lips…caressing.
>No, never midst the fiercest blaze
>Of wildest youth’s most fervent days
>Was I so racked with yearning’s anguish:
>No maiden’s lips were equal bliss,
>No rosy cheek that I might kiss,
>Or sultry breast on which to languish.
>No never once did passion’s flood
>So rend my soul, so flame my blood.
>Another memory finds me ready:
>In cherished dreams I sometimes stand
>And hold the lucky stirrup steady,
>Then feel her foot within my hand!
>Once more imagination surges,
>Once more that touch ignites and urges
>The blood within this withered heart:
>Once more the love…once more the dart!
>But stop…Enough! My babbling lyre
>Has overpraised these haughty things:
>They’re hardly worth the songs one sings
>Or all the passions they inspire;
>Their charming words and glances sweet
>Are quite as faithless as their feet.
Alexander Pushkin, Eugene Onegin
>And Flora’s cheek, I quite agree
>But I prefer above these others
>The foot of sweet Terpsichore.
>It hints to probing, ardent glances
>Of rich rewards and peerless trances;
>Its token beauty stokes the fires,
>The willful swarm of hot desires.
>My dear Elvina, I adore it--
>Beneath the table barely seen,
>In springtime on the meadow’s green,
>In winter with the hearth before it,
>Upon the ballroom’s mirrored floor,
>Or perched on granite by the shore.
>I recollect the ocean rumbling:
>O who I envied then the waves--
>Those rushing tides in tumult tumbling
>To fall about her feet like slaves!
>I longed to join the waves in pressing
>Upon those feet these lips…caressing.
>No, never midst the fiercest blaze
>Of wildest youth’s most fervent days
>Was I so racked with yearning’s anguish:
>No maiden’s lips were equal bliss,
>No rosy cheek that I might kiss,
>Or sultry breast on which to languish.
>No never once did passion’s flood
>So rend my soul, so flame my blood.
>Another memory finds me ready:
>In cherished dreams I sometimes stand
>And hold the lucky stirrup steady,
>Then feel her foot within my hand!
>Once more imagination surges,
>Once more that touch ignites and urges
>The blood within this withered heart:
>Once more the love…once more the dart!
>But stop…Enough! My babbling lyre
>Has overpraised these haughty things:
>They’re hardly worth the songs one sings
>Or all the passions they inspire;
>Their charming words and glances sweet
>Are quite as faithless as their feet.
Alexander Pushkin, Eugene Onegin
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