Page:Poems, Alexander Pushkin, 1888.djvu/77

Rh Of friends again I hear the treacherous greeting

Games amid of love and wine.

To the heart again insults brings

Irrepressible the cold world.

No joy for me,—and calmly before me

Of visions young two now rise:

Two tender shades, two angels me

Given by fate in the days of yore.

But both have wings and flaming swords,

And they watch—&hellip; and both are vengeant,

And both to me speak with death tongue

Of Eternity's mysteries, and of the grave.