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Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837)

I loved you once, nor can this heart be quiet;
For it would seem that love still lingers there;

But do not you be further troubled by it;
I would in no wise hurt you, oh, my dear.

I loved you without hope, a mute offender;
What jealous pangs, what shy despairs I knew!

A love as deep as this, as true, as tender,
God grant another may yet offer you.

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