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Alexander Pushkin - NightAlexander Pushkin - Night
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My voice, to which love lends a tenderness and yearing, Disturbs night`s dreamy calm ... Pale at my bedside burning, A taper wastes away ... From out my heart there surge Stift verses, streams of love, that hum and sing and merge. And, full of you, rush on, with passion overflowing. I seem to see your eyes that, in the darkness glowing, Meet mine ... I see your smile ... You speak to me alone: My friend, my dearest friend ... I`m your`s ... your own.
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