XLVI

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XLVI

“ ’Twas possible then, happiness⁠—

Nay, near⁠—but destiny decreed⁠—

My lot is fixed⁠—with thoughtlessness

It may be that I did proceed⁠—

With bitter tears my mother prayed,

And for Tattiana, mournful maid,

Indifferent was her future fate.

I married⁠—now, I supplicate⁠—

For ever your Tattiana leave.

Your heart possesses, I know well,

Honour and pride inflexible.

I love you⁠—to what end deceive?⁠—

But I am now another’s bride⁠—

For ever faithful will abide.”