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But ye to whom, when friendship heard,

The first-fruits of my tale I read,

As Saadi anciently averred⁠—

Some are afar and some are dead.

Without them Eugene is complete;

And thou, from whom Tattiana sweet;

Was drawn, ideal of my lay⁠—

Ah! what hath fate not torn away!

Happy who quit life’s banquet seat

Before the dregs they shall divine

Of the cup brimming o’er with wine⁠—

Who the romance do not complete,

But who abandon it⁠—as I

Have my Onegin⁠—suddenly.