“My
times of hope were cast in shade
And
pleasure dimmed by longing,
For
it was then an evil genius
Began
to pay me secret visits.
Our
meetings were quite dolorous:
His
smile, his glance mysterious,
His
venom-filled and caustic sermons
Poured
frozen poison in my soul.” —Russian poet Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837), from “The Demons,"
in Poems Bewitched and Haunted (Everyman's Library) (2005)
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