SONG.
Reading edition
From the Russian of Pushkin.
Hoary man, hateful man! Gash my frame, burn my frame; Bold I am, scoff I can At the sword, at the flame.
Thee as hell I abhor, And despise heartily; I another do adore, And for love of him die.
Gash my frame, burn my frame!— Nothing I will tell thee; Man of age, man of rage, Him thou’lt ne’er know from me.
Fresh as May and as gay, Warm as Summer days he; O how sweet, young and neat, O how well he loves me.
O how him I carest In the night still and fine; O how then we did jest At that grey head of thine.