XLIII

2 0 00

XLIII

Their daughters kiss Tattiana fair.

In the beginning, cold and mute,

Moscow’s young Graces at her stare,

Examine her from head to foot.

They deem her somewhat finical,

Outlandish and provincial,

A trifle pale, a trifle lean,

But plainer girls they oft had seen.

Obedient then to Nature’s law,

With her they did associate,

Squeeze tiny hands and osculate;

Her tresses curled in fashion saw,

And oft in whispers would impart

A maiden’s secrets⁠—of the heart.