Here you will find thePoemNightof poet Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
My voice, to which love lends a tenderness and yearing, Disturbs night's dreamy calm ... Pale at my bedside burning, A taper wastes away ... From out my heart there surge Stift verses, streams of love, that hum and sing and merge. And, full of you, rush on, with passion overflowing. I seem to see your eyes that, in the darkness glowing, Meet mine ... I see your smile ... You speak to me alone: My friend, my dearest friend ... I'm your's ... your own.
