Old Man

By Alexander Pushkin

I am no more the ardent lover
  Who caused the world such vast amaze:
  My spring is past, my summer over,
  And dead the fires of other days.
  Oh, Eros, god of youth! Your servant
  Was loyal--that you will avow.
  Could I be born again this moment,
  Ah, with what zest I'd serve you know!

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