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

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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—… and both are vengeant,
And both to me speak with death tongue
Of Eternity's mysteries, and of the grave.