Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (6 June 1799 – 10 February 1837 / Moscow)
I think that thou wert born for this—
To set the poet's vision burning,
To hold him in a trance of bliss,
And by sweet words to wake his yearning:
To charm him by those eyes that shine,
By that strange Eastern speech of thine,
And by thy feet—those tiny treasures!
Ah! thou wert born for languid pleasures
And glowing hours of bliss divine!
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