My days still linger, slow and rough
Each moment multiplies the sadness
Within the heart of hapless love
Disturbing all the hopes of madness
I’m silent; not a word I breathe.
I weep, my tears — my consolation
My soul, held captive by the grief
Still finds delight in this sensation.
No longer do I care if life goes by,
O, hollow phantom into darkness flee;
The sorrow of my love is dear to me–
If I die loving, then I pray let die!

– Alexander Pushkin

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