Book: Eugene Onegin

What are oysters? Come! Oh joy!
Flying gourmand Mladost...

Today I was presented.
Looked at her husband with a half-hour;
It is important, dye hair,
He chin wit spared.

Tatiana in the darkness does not sleep
And quietly with the babysitter says:
"Can't sleep, Nyanya: it's stuffy!
Open the window and sit down to me."

Bored, bored, bored! At the Bottom he wants
In the Fatherland Minin. Before him
In the usual case, vainly strives,
Boils its abundance.
Here the pearls the Indian were brought,
Fake guilt European;
A herd of rejected horses
Drove the breeder from the steppes,
The player brought their decks
And a handful of helpful bones;
The landowner - a ripe daughters,
And daughters of last year's fashion.
Everyone fusses, lies for two,
And everywhere a Mercantile spirit.

In the Koran a lot of thought is sound,
For example: before every sleep
Pray, run crafty ways,
Honor God and don't argue with stupid.

The censorship is your duty to pay
And journalists to devour
The fruits of labors of mine will give:
Go to the Neva shores
The newborn creature,
And earn me fame tribute:
Curves crowds, noise and swearing.

Passion the game we knew both;
Tomila the life of both of us;
In both hearts the heat has subsided;
Both had expected anger
Blind Fortune and people
On the morning of our days.

Her early liked novels;
She replaced all;
She vlyublyalas in deceptions
And Richardson and Rousseau.
Her father was a good man
In the past century delayed;
But in the books not seen harms;
He's not reading never,
Read them an empty toy
And did not care about
What the daughter's secret that
Dozed till the morning under the pillow.

Treasures of native words
Notice important minds
For the babbling of someone else's
Insanely ignored us.
We love the music of foreign toys,
Foreign languages rattles
And don't read their books.

In Moscow, on fair of brides!
There, heard a lot of empty seats.

Dreams, dreams! where is your sweetness?
Where the eternal to him rhyme, Mladost?

But I the fruit of my dreams
Harmonic and austere
Reading only the old nanny
Friend of my youth,
Yes after a boring dinner
I wandered to the neighbor,
Having caught unexpectedly for a floor,
The soul of tragedy in the corner,
Or (but it seriously),
Sadness and rhyme tormented,
Wandering over my lake,
Scaring a flock of wild ducks:
Heeding the singing mellifluous stanzas
They fly from the coast.

My style on important lad of spirit,
Sometimes, the fiery Creator
Showed us his character
As the perfection of the sample.
He bestowed upon the subject of love,
Always unjustly persecuted,
Soul sensitive, mind
And an attractive face.
Feeding the fever of pure passion
Always the enthusiastic hero
Was ready to sacrifice himself.
And at the end of the last part
Always were punished Vice,
The good were worthy of the wreath.

Obragas character
Our beloved creators,
Clarice, Julia, Delphine,
Tatiana in the silence of the forest
One with the dangerous book wanders,
She seeks and finds
Your secret fever, your dreams,
The fruits of fullness of heart,
Sighs and myself prisoa
Someone else's excitement, someone else's sadness,
In oblivion by heart whispers
Letter to beloved hero...