Tatyana’s Letter to Onegin

I write to you—what more must I say?

What more is there to say?

Now I know it to be your will

To punish me with contempt.

But you, for my unhappy share

Holding but a drop of pity,

You will not leave me.

I hoped to remain silent;

Believe me: of my shame

you never would have known

if I held the hope,

even rarely, even once a week,

to see you at our country place

Just to listen to your voice,

And express just a word to you, then

to think, think of one thought,

both day and night—until a new encounter.

But it is said you are aloof;

In wilderness, in the country, all bores you,

And we…with nothing do we shine,

For at least guilelessly you are welcomed.

First Draft

Tatyana’s Letter to Onegin

I write to you—what more is there?

What more can I say?

Now I know it be your will

Me to punish with contempt

But you, sharing my bitterness

Holding but a drop of pity,

You will not leave me.

I hoped to remain silent;

Believe my shame

Otherwise unbeknownst to you forever,

When in hope I contained,

If rarely, if just once a week

In that village I see you

Just to listen to your voice,

And share mine with you, then

To think, think of one thought

The day and night—until their next acquaintance.

But it is said you are aloof

In wilderness, in village all is lonely.

And we…with nothing do we shine,

For at least you glisten guilelessly.