Muse Poem by Yevgeny Abramovich Baratynsky

I did not blinded with the Muse, my dear:
She'll not be called the beauty, charming heart,
And throngs of youths, when sought her passing here,
As crazy lovers, will not run behind.
She has not any wish or gift to raise desires
By plays of eyes, by elegant attires,
Or by the clever and sarcastic speech;
But, the high world could sometimes be bewitched
By singularity of whole her expression,
By simple structure of her quiet phrase;
And, rather than with biting alienation,
It'll honour her with the negligent praise.