Develops and matures its powers,

And thus in season the rich field

Gay flowers and luscious fruit doth yield.

But at a later, sterile age,

The solstice of our earthly years,

Mournful Love's deadly trace appears

As storms which in chill autumn rage

And leave a marsh the fertile ground

And devastate the woods around.

XXIX.

There was no doubt! Eugene, alas!

Tattiana loved as when a lad,

Both day and night he now must pass

In love-lorn meditation sad.

Careless of every social rule,

The crystals of her vestibule

He daily in his drives drew near

And like a shadow haunted her.

Enraptured was he if allowed

To swathe her shoulders in the furs,

If his hot hand encountered hers,

Or he dispersed the motley crowd

Of lackeys in her pathway grouped,

Or to pick up her kerchief stooped.

XXX.

She seemed of him oblivious,

Despite the anguish of his breast,

Received him freely at her house,

At times three words to him addressed

In company, or simply bowed,

Or recognized not in the crowd.

No coquetry was there, I vouch -

Society endures not such!

Oneguine's cheek grew ashy pale,