---

Alexander Pushkin - The Black Shawl
Work rating: Low

As of senses bereft, at a black shawl I stare, 
And my chill heart is tortured with deadly despair. 

When dreaming too fondly in credulous youth, 
I loved a Greek maiden with passion and truth. 

My Greek girl was gentle and loving and fair; 
But my joy quickly sank in a day of despair. 

Once I feasted gay friends; ere the banquet was o`er 
A Jew, the accursed, softly knocked at my door.

"Thou art laughing," he whispered,"in pleasure`s mad whirl; 
But she hath betrayed thee, thy young Grecian girl."

I cursed him; but gold as a guerdon I gave, 
And took as companion my trustiest slave. 

My swift charger I mounted; at once we depart, 
And the soft voice of pity was stilled in my heart. 

The Greek maiden`s dwelling I hardly could mark, 
For my limbs they grew faint, and my eyes they grew dark.

I silently entered—alone and amazed;
An Armenian was kissing the girl as I gazed.

I saw not the light; but I seized my good blade; 
The betrayer ne`er finished the kiss that betrayed.

On his warm, headless body I trampled, then spurn`d, 
And silent and pale to the maiden I turned.

I remember her prayers—in her blood how she strove; 
Then perished my Greek girl—then perished my love.

I tore the black shawl from her head as she lay, 
Wiped the blood-dripping weapon, and hurried away.

When the mists of the evening rose gloomy, my slave
Threw each corpse in the Danube`s dark fastrolling wave.

Since then no bewildering eyes can delight; 
Since then I forbear festive banquets at night. 

As of senses bereft, at a black shawl I stare, 
And my chill heart is tortured with deadly despair.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.