From the Russian of Pushkin.
Hoary man, hateful man!
Gash my frame, burn my frame;
Bold I am, scoff I can
At the sword, at the flame.
Thee as hell I abhor,
And despise heartily;
I another do adore,
And for love of him die.
Gash my frame, burn my frame!--
Nothing I will tell thee;
Man of age, man of rage,
Him thou'lt ne'er know from me.
Fresh as May and as gay,
Warm as Summer days he;
O how sweet, young and neat,
O how well he loves me.
O how him I carest
In the night still and fine;
O how then we did jest
At that grey head of thine.