-...Cold and regretless shalt thou view this sphere,
Where crime-s inseparable from fate,
Where beauty only blossoms to grow sear,
Where all is miserable, where, without fear
No one can either love or hate.
Know-st thou, Tamà¡ra, what is mortal love?
A febrile movement of the blood!
Years roll away-the pulse can scarcely move,
Love-s wither-d branches cease to bud.
Who can resist new beauty-s luring bait?
Who, parting, never shed a tear?
Who can withstand the tedium of fate,
The weariness of all things here?
No, my beloved, believe, -tis not thy lot
To perish in a living grave,
In silence, languish on this narrow spot,
Of brutal jealousy the slave....�