Lermontov 1

In that tower tall and narrow,
Princese Tamara lived:

There through the midnightght fog ,
A golden light gleamed, beckoning
her voice was all desire & passion,
On a soft bed
in brocade and pearls,
She awaited s/her/the guest.

burning hands intertwined,
Lips stuck to lips,
strange, wild sounds

As if at that empty tower
hundreds celebrated the nocturnal wedding,
a great funeral...

in morning, darkness, silence
farewell so tender,
it promised the raptures
Of meeting and the caresses of love.


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