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Say not he loves me as before, as truly, dearly As once he did... Oh no! My life He would destroy, he does destroy - though see I clearly The trembling of the hand that holds the knife.
Resentment, anger, tears, a pain now fierce, now muffled - I'm wounded, stung, and yet I love... He is All of my life, but I... I do not live - I suffer... How bitter is existence such as this!
As to a mortal foe, in dozes scant and meagre The air I breathe he measures out.. Each breath I take is painful, yet... I breathe, for fresh air eager... But life ... life slowly ebbs... I cannot ward off death.
Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
Read poems about / on: anger, pain, death, life
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