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Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev - Say Not He Loves Me
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Say not he loves me as before, as truly, dearly
As once he did… Oh no! My life
He would  destroy, he does destroy - though see I clearly
The trembling of the hand that holds the knife.

Resentment, anger, tears, a pain now fierce, now muffled -
I`m wounded, stung, and yet I love… He is
All of my life, but I… I do not live - I suffer…
How bitter is existence such as this!

As to a mortal foe, in dozes scant and meagre
The air I breathe he measures out.. Each breath
I take is painful, yet… I breathe, for fresh air eager…
But life… life slowly ebbs… I cannot ward off death.
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