I loved you; even now I may confess,
Some embers of my life their fire retain;
But do not let it cause you more distress,
I do not want to sadden you again.
Hopeless and tonguetied, yet I loved you dearly
With pangs the jealous and the timid know;
So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,
I pray God grant another love you so.
—Alexander Pushkin (translated from Russian by Reginald Mainwaring Hewitt)