“...Cold and regretless shalt thou view this sphere, <br />Where crime’s inseparable from fate, <br />Where beauty only blossoms to grow sear, <br />Where all is miserable, where, without fear <br />No one can either love or hate. <br />Know’st thou, Tamára, what is mortal love? <br />A febrile movement of the blood! <br />Years roll away—the pulse can scarcely move, <br />Love’s wither’d branches cease to bud. <br />Who can resist new beauty’s luring bait? <br />Who, parting, never shed a tear? <br />Who can withstand the tedium of fate, <br />The weariness of all things here? <br />No, my beloved, believe, ’tis not thy lot <br />To perish in a living grave, <br />In silence, languish on this narrow spot, <br />Of brutal jealousy the slave....”<br /><br />Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-demon-9/
