Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev: My Soul, My Prophetic Pain...

My soul, my prophetic pain!
My heart, forever filled with bother,
O how throb you on a border,
Of two realities, in vain!...

You are a realm of my two worlds,
Your day is fervid and pathetic,
Your sleep unclear and prophetic,
Like scripture of the spirit's thoughts...

And let my breast is in a fit
Of passion, fatal one and scary,
My heart is ready, like saint Mary,
To cling forever to Christ's feet.


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