XXXIII

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XXXIII

And it may be a secret dread

Lest the world or her lord divine

A certain little escapade

Well known unto Onegin mine.

’Tis hopeless! Homeward doth he flee

Cursing his own stupidity,

And brooding o’er the ills he bore,

Society renounced once more.

Then in the silent cabinet

He in imagination saw

The time when Melancholy’s claw

’Mid worldly pleasures chased him yet,

Caught him and by the collar took

And shut him in a lonely nook.