He's blessed, who lives in peace, that's distant
From the ignorant fobs with calls,
Who can provide his every instance
With dreams, or labors, or recalls;
To whom the fate sends friends in score,
Who hides himself by Savior's back
From bashful fools, which lull and bore,
And from the impudent ones, which wake.
Solitude
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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Poem topics: fate, peace, april fools, score, instance, ignorant, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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