Untitled (1829)


I loved you; even now, if I should stir it,
A single ember of that fire might glow;
But now let it not longer vex your spirit;
Rather than be your grief, my love must go.

I loved you hopelessly and silently,
Torn by a jealous but a timid will;
I loved you as sincerely, and as tenderly,
As God grant someone else may love you still.

Designed and Managed by for The Pushkin Prizes