XXXVIII

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XXXVIII

Time flies! a genial air abroad,

Winter resigned her empire white,

Onegin ne’er as poet showed

Nor died nor lost his senses quite.

Spring cheered him up, and he resigned

His chambers close wherein confined

He marmot-like did hibernate,

His double sashes and his grate,

And sallied forth one brilliant morn⁠—

Along the Neva’s bank he sleighs,

On the blue blocks of ice the rays

Of the sun glisten; muddy, worn,

The snow upon the streets doth melt⁠—

Whither along them doth he pelt?