Fyodor Ivanovic Tyutchev

5 December 1803 – 27 July 1873 / Ovstug

I Love Your Dear Eyes

I love your dear eyes, my friend,
With their play so bright and wondrous,
When you promptly rise them, and,
Like with a lightning in the wildness,
Embrace at once the whole land.

But there's more fabulous attraction:
The eyes directed to the floor
During the crazy osculation,
And through the lashes, set before,
The dusk and gloomy flame of passion.
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