The sweetest cup, freak dashed it from my lips.
This very night—just think, this very night—
I planned to come and beg of you the alms
I dared not ask for in my poverty.
I thought me poor then. How stript am I now!
There’s not a ragged mendicant one meets
Along the Nevski Prospekt but has leave to tell his love,
And I have not that right!
Pauline Pavlovna, why do you stand there
Stark as a statue, with no word to say?