From Pushkin
I loved you: yet the love, maybe,
Has not gone out in my heart;
But hence may not it trouble thee;
I do not want to make you sad.
I loved you hopelessly and mutely,
Now with shyness, now with jealousy being vexed;
I loved you so sincerely, so fondly,
God grant you to be loved so by the next.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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