What is love to feta. Love lyrics A

From the section "Love lyrics of poets of all times and generations."

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Afanasy Fet
(1820-1892)

If you love like me, endlessly,
If you live and breathe love,
Place your hand on my chest carelessly:
You can hear the beating of hearts under it.

Oh, don't count them! in them, with magical power,
Every impulse is overwhelmed by you;
So in the spring behind the healing stream
Spins moisture in a hot stream.

Drink, surrender to the happy moments, -
The thrill of bliss will embrace the whole soul;
Drink - and don’t ask with inquisitive eyes,
Will the heart soon dry up, cool down?

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Afanasy Fet

The night was shining. The garden was full of moonlight. were lying
Rays at our feet in a living room without lights.
The piano was all open, and the strings in it were trembling,
Just like our hearts follow your song.

You sang until dawn, exhausted in tears,
That you alone are love, that there is no other love,
And I wanted to live so much, so that without making a sound,
To love you, hug you and cry over you.

And many years have passed, tedious and boring,
And in the silence of the night I hear your voice again,
And it blows, as then, in these sonorous sighs,
That you are alone - all life, that you are alone - love,

That there are no insults from fate and burning torment in the heart,
But there is no end to life, and there is no other goal,
As soon as you believe in the sobbing sounds,
Love you, hug you and cry over you!

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Afanasy Fet

What happiness: both the night and we are alone!
The river is like a mirror and all sparkles with stars;
And there...throw your head back and take a look:
What depth and purity is above us!

Oh, call me crazy! Name it
Whatever you want; at this moment my mind is weakening
And in my heart I feel such a surge of love,
That I can’t be silent, I won’t, I can’t!

I'm sick, I'm in love; but, suffering and loving -
Oh listen! oh understand! - I don’t hide my passion,
And I want to say that I love you -
You, you alone, I love and wish!

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Afanasy Fet

Don't avoid; I'm not begging
No tears, no heart of secret pain,
I want freedom for my melancholy
And repeat to you: “I love you.”

I want to rush towards you, fly,
Like waves on a watery plain,
Kiss the cold granite,
Kiss and die!

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Afanasy Fet

No, I haven't changed it. Until old age
I am the same devotee, I am the slave of your love,
And the old poison of chains, joyful and cruel,
It still burns in my blood.

Although memory insists that there is a grave between us,
Even though every day I wander wearily to another, -
I can't believe that you would forget me,
When you're here in front of me.

Will another beauty flash for a moment,
It seems to me that I’m about to recognize you;
And I hear a breath of former tenderness,
And, shuddering, I sing.

Afanasy Fet

I'll just meet your smile
Or I’ll catch your joyful glance, -
It is not for you that I sing a song of love,
And your beauty is indescribable.

They talk about the singer at dawn,
Like a rose with a love trill
He is happy to praise incessantly
Over her fragrant cradle.

But silent, magnificently pure,
Young mistress of the garden:
Only a song needs beauty,
Beauty doesn't even need songs.

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Afanasy Fet

I came to you with greetings,
Tell me that the sun has risen
What is it with hot light
The sheets began to flutter;

Tell me that the forest has woken up,
All woke up, every branch,
Every bird was startled
And full of thirst in spring;

Tell me that with the same passion,
Like yesterday, I came again,
That the soul is still the same happiness
And I’m ready to serve you;

Tell me that from everywhere
It blows over me with joy,
That I don’t know myself that I will
Sing - but only the song is ripening.

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Afanasy Fet

Cheeks blush with scarlet heat,
The sable is covered with frost,
And a breath of light steam
It flies from your nostrils.

Daring curl in punishment
He turned gray at the age of sixteen...
Isn't it time for us to get out of skiing? -
Warmth and light await you at home -

And start talking
Until dawn about love?..
And the frost has its own patterns
He will write on the glass again.

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Afanasy Fet

You tell me: I'm sorry!
I say: goodbye!
You say: don't be sad!
I'm planning a confession.

It was a wonderful evening yesterday!
He will be around for a long time;
Everyone, but it’s not time for us;
The flames fade in the fireplace.

Well, why this look?
Where is my caustic coldness?
Am I glad of your sadness?
Do you know that I am arrogant and young?

Why did you sigh? Bloom -
The goal of creation is centuries old;
You tell me: I'm sorry!
I say: goodbye!

The theme of love is one of the components of the theory of pure art, most widely reflected in Russian literature in the poems of Fet and Tyutchev. This eternal theme of poetry nevertheless found its new refraction here and sounded somewhat new. Saltykov-Shchedrin wrote in the 70s that now no one will dare to sing the praises of nightingales and roses. For Fet, the theme of love, on the contrary, was fundamental to all of his work until the end of his life.
The creation of beautiful poems about love is explained not only by the divine gift and special talent of the poet. In the case of Fet, it also has a real autobiographical background. Fet's inspiration was the love of his youth - the daughter of a Serbian landowner, Maria Lazic. Their love was as high and unquenchable as it was tragic. Lazic knew that Fet would never marry her, nevertheless, her last words before her death were the exclamation: “It’s not he who is to blame, but me!” The circumstances of her death have not been clarified, as have the circumstances of Fet’s birth, but there is reason to believe that it was suicide. The consciousness of indirect guilt and the severity of the loss weighed on Fet throughout his life, and the result of this was a dual world, something akin to the dual world of Zhukovsky. Contemporaries noted Fet's coldness, prudence and even some cruelty in everyday life. But what a contrast this makes with Fet’s other world - the world of his lyrical experiences, embodied in his poems. All his life Zhukovsky believed in connecting with Masha Protasova in another world, he lived with these memories. Fet is also immersed in his own world, because only in it is unity with his beloved possible. Fet feels himself and his beloved (his “second self”) inseparably merged in another existence, which actually continues in the world of poetry: “And although I am destined to drag out life without you, we are together with you, we cannot be separated.” (“Alter ego.”) The poet constantly feels spiritual closeness with his beloved. The poems “You have suffered, I still suffer...”, “In the silence and darkness of a mysterious night...” are about this. He makes a solemn promise to his beloved: “I will carry your light through earthly life: it is mine - and with it a double existence” (“Wearisomely inviting and in vain...”).
The poet speaks directly about “double existence”, that his earthly life will only help him endure the “immortality” of his beloved, that she is alive in his soul. Indeed, for the poet, the image of his beloved woman throughout his life was not only a beautiful and long-gone ideal of another world, but also a moral judge of his earthly life. In the poem "Dream", also dedicated to Maria Lazic, this is felt especially clearly. The poem has an autobiographical basis; Lieutenant Losev is easily recognizable as Fet himself, and the medieval house where he stayed also has its prototype in Dorpat. The comic description of the “club of devils” gives way to a certain moralizing aspect: the lieutenant hesitates in his choice, and he is reminded of a completely different image - the image of his long-dead beloved. He turns to her for advice: “Oh, what would you say, I dare not name who with these sinful thoughts.”
The literary critic Blagoy, in his research, points out the correspondence of these lines to the words of Virgil to Dante that “as a pagan, he cannot accompany him to heaven, and Beatrice is given to him as a companion.” The image of Maria Lazic (and this is undoubtedly her) for Fet is a moral ideal; the poet’s whole life is a desire for an ideal and hope for reunification.
But Fet’s love lyrics are filled not only with a feeling of hope and hope. She is also deeply tragic. The feeling of love is very contradictory; it is not only joy, but also torment and suffering. In poems there are often such combinations as joy - suffering, “the bliss of suffering”, “the sweetness of secret torment”. The poem "Don't wake her up at dawn" is filled with such a double meaning. At first glance, we see a serene picture of a girl’s morning sleep. But already the second quatrain conveys some kind of tension and destroys this serenity: “And her pillow is hot, and her weary sleep is hot.” The appearance of “strange” epithets, such as “tiring sleep,” no longer indicates serenity, but some kind of painful state close to delirium. The reason for this state is further explained, the poem reaches its climax: “She became paler and paler, her heart beat more and more painfully.” The tension grows, and suddenly the last quatrain completely changes the picture, leaving the reader in bewilderment: “Don’t wake her, don’t wake her, at dawn she sleeps so sweetly.” These lines provide a contrast with the middle of the poem and return us to the harmony of the first lines, but on a new turn. The call “don’t wake her up” sounds almost hysterical, like a cry from the soul. The same impulse of passion is felt in the poem “The night was shining, the garden was full of the moon...”, dedicated to Tatyana Bers. The tension is emphasized by the refrain: “Love you, hug you and cry over
you." In this poem, the quiet picture of the night garden gives way to and contrasts with the storm in the poet’s soul: “The piano was all open and the strings in it trembled, just like our hearts behind your song.”
The “languorous and boring” life is contrasted with the “burning torment of the heart”; the purpose of life is concentrated in a single impulse of the soul, even if in it it burns to the ground. For Fet, love is a fire, just like poetry is a flame in which the soul burns. “Didn’t anything whisper to you at that time: a man was burned there!” - Fet exclaims in the poem “When you read the painful lines...”. It seems to me that Fet could have said the same thing about the torment of love experiences. But once “burned out,” that is, having experienced true love, Fet is nevertheless not devastated, and throughout his life he retained in his memory the freshness of these feelings and the image of his beloved.
Once Fet was asked how, at his age, he could write about love so youthfully? He answered: from memory. Blagoy says that “Fet is distinguished by an exceptionally strong poetic memory,” and cites the example of the poem “On the Swing,” the impetus for writing which was a memory 40 years ago (the poem was written in 1890). “Forty years ago I was swinging on a swing with a girl, standing on a board, and her dress was flapping in the wind,” Fet writes in a letter to Polonsky. Such a “sound detail” (Blagoy), like a dress that “crackled in the wind,” is most memorable for the poet-musician. All of Fet's poetry is built on sounds, modulations and sound images. Turgenev said about Fet that he expected a poem from him, the last lines of which would have to be conveyed only by the silent movement of his lips. A striking example is the poem “Whisper, timid breathing...”, which is built on only nouns and adjectives, without a single verb. Commas and exclamation points also convey the splendor and tension of the moment with realistic specificity. This poem creates a point image, which, when viewed closely, gives chaos, “a series of magical” “changes” elusive to the human eye, and in the distance - an accurate picture. Fet, as an impressionist, bases his poetry, and in particular the description of love experiences and memories, on the direct recording of his subjective observations and impressions. Condensation, but not mixing of colorful strokes, as in Monet’s paintings, gives the description of love experiences a culmination and extreme clarity to the image of the beloved. What is she like?
“I know your passion for hair,” Grigoriev tells Fet about his story “Cactus.” This passion is manifested more than once in Fetov’s poems: “I love to look at your long lock of hair,” “golden fleece of curls,” “braids running in a heavy knot,” “a strand of fluffy hair,” and “braids with a ribbon on both sides.” Although these descriptions are somewhat general, they nevertheless create a fairly clear image of a beautiful girl. Fet describes her eyes a little differently. Either this is a “radiant gaze”, or “motionless eyes, crazy eyes” (similar to Tyutchev’s poem “I knew my eyes, oh these eyes”). “Your gaze is open and fearless,” writes Fet, and in the same poem he talks about “thin lines of the ideal.” For Fet, his beloved is a moral judge and ideal. She has great power over the poet throughout his life, although already in 1850, shortly after Lazic’s death, Fet writes: “My ideal world was destroyed long ago.” The influence of the beloved woman on the poet is also felt in the poem “For a long time I dreamed of the cries of your sobs.” The poet calls himself an “unhappy executioner,” he acutely feels his guilt for the death of his beloved, and the punishment for this was “two drops of tears” and “cold trembling,” which he endured forever during “sleepless nights.” This poem is painted in Tyutchev's tones and absorbs Tyutchev's drama.
The biographies of these two poets are similar in many ways - they both experienced the death of their beloved woman, and the immense longing for what was lost provided food for the creation of beautiful love poems. In the case of Fet, this fact seems most strange - how can you first destroy a girl, and then write sublime poems about her all your life? It seems to me that the loss made such a deep impression on Fet that the poet experienced a kind of catharsis, and the result of this suffering was Fet’s genius - he was admitted to the high sphere of poetry, his entire description of his favorite experiences and the feeling of the tragedy of love affects the reader so strongly because that Fet himself experienced them, and his creative genius put these experiences into poetic form. Only the power of poetry was able to convey them, following Tyutchev’s saying: a thought expressed is a lie. Fet himself repeatedly speaks about the power of poetry: “How rich I am in crazy verses.”
Fet's love lyrics make it possible to penetrate deeper into his general philosophical and, accordingly, aesthetic views, as Blagoy says, “into his solution to the fundamental question of the relationship between art and reality.” Love, like poetry, according to Fet, refers to another, other world, which is dear and close to Fet. In his poems about love, Fet acted “not as a militant preacher of pure art in opposition to the sixties, but created his own and self-valuable world” (Blagoy). And this world is filled with true experiences, the poet’s spiritual aspirations and a deep sense of hope, reflected in the poet’s love lyrics.

The highest achievement of Fetov's late poetry is his love poems, undoubtedly the most extraordinary and most passionate love poems written by a seventy-year-old man. In them, Fet's method - using only his own suppressed emotions in poetry - won a brilliant victory. They are so intense that they look like the quintessence of passion. They are much more difficult to translate than his early melodies, and I hesitate to quote here the examples that Professor Elton gives in his report on Fet. But these poems belong to the most precious diamonds of our poetry. The love theme is especially significant for Fet. Fet considered it the main theme of poetry: “Graceful sympathy, established in its all-victorious attractiveness by nature itself in order to preserve species, will always remain the grain and center on which every poetic thread is wound” (letter to Polonsky). Meanwhile, Turgenev, a subtle connoisseur of Fet’s lyrics, wrote to him: “All your personal, lyrical, love, especially passionate poems are weaker than others: it’s as if you composed them, and the subject of the poems did not exist at all.” What does Turgenev actually mean? Apparently, Fet does not give individual images of women while revealing emotional experiences in a subtle way. Fet paints feelings and experiences, but not those who experience them. However, this can be said not only about women, but also about men—primarily about the lyrical “I” of Fet’s poems. This is a very generalized “I”, with almost no individual characteristics. We can say about the subject of Fet’s poems that he is a person who passionately loves nature and art, is observant, knows how to find beauty in everyday manifestations of life, etc., but we cannot give a more specific - psychological, biographical, social - characteristics of him. Can.

In solitude, will I sometimes forget,

Is it a dream that closes my eyelashes like a dream?

You, you again stand in front of me in the distance,

My spring days are surrounded by the radiance.

Everything that is destroyed, but is alive in the poor heart,

What lies like a gaping abyss between us,

Unable to restrain my soul's impulse,

And again I’m with you - and it’s light for you.

The fickle and frail idol is not for you

In heart blindness I create from dust;

This distance is dear to me: there is an unchanging ghost in it

Again, pure and bright, I stand before you.

Neither my children's tears, nor the torments of my sinless soul,

I can't blame a woman's weakness

I strive for their shrine with inconsolable melancholy

And in horror of shame I cherish your image.

This is one of the rare poems in Russian poetry written by a man on behalf of a woman. The consciousness of her sinlessness coexists in her with the consciousness of her shame. The brightest thing, the irresistibly attracting to the memory of young days, is what causes inconsolable melancholy and horror of shame. The destroyed idol is recreated again and again and again turns to dust. The poems are written from the perspective of a woman, but in their tone they are close to the poems inspired by the memory of Lazic - and one can think that these poems were inspired by the same experiences in the poet. Bright, pure, sinless - these epithets are more natural in the mouth of a man mourning the woman he has ruined than in the mouth of a woman recalling her youth: here they would smack of complacency and narcissism. If so, here is a creative experiment: Fet imagines Maria surviving, imagines the feelings that she would experience if she mentally turned to him. There is something like this in other poems:

Although memory insists that there is a grave between us,

When you're here in front of me.

And I dream that you rose from the grave,

The same as you flew off the earth,

And I dream, I dream: we are both young,

And you looked as you looked before.

(“In the silence and darkness of a mysterious night...”)

Let's take a closer look at Fet's early poems, which seemed “genius” to his contemporaries. Here is a poem, each of the three stanzas of which begins with the words: “I am waiting ....” He is, of course, waiting for his beloved, but this is not said directly. At the end of the second stanza, the tension of anticipation increases:

I can hear the heartbeat

And trembling in the hands and feet.

For another poet of that era, the tension would have been resolved by the arrival or non-arrival of his beloved; Fet has a different ending:

The star rolled to the west...

Sorry, golden one, sorry!

(“I'm waiting... The nightingale's echo...")

A sharp impression of fragmentation and deliberate raggedness was created. Dreaming of an unrequitedly beloved girl is a more than usual theme for a lyric poem. But how does Fet develop it?

Ah, child, I am attached to you

I love freely!

Today you, my little one,

I dreamed of wearing a star crown.

What sparkles are these stars!

What a gentle radiance!

You yourself, my little one,

What a bright creature!

The image of the queen of stars replaced the theme of “free” love and cut off the poem “like a genius.”

Fet fell in love with Maria Lazich, but neither the feeling nor the consciousness that he had met a woman capable of understanding him and illuminating his life with her love could defeat Fet’s conviction that he would finally die by marrying a dowry... Fet’s love receded before prosaic calculation. And was his love the kind of love that is capable of giving true happiness to the lover and the beloved? Wasn’t Fet generally only capable of the kind of love that disturbs the imagination and, sublimating, outlives itself in creativity?

Or is it a sick passion that lied

And the heat of the night will go out in song?

The romance ended in separation, which was soon followed by the death of Lazic, who was burned by a match she carelessly threw. It is possible that this was a disguised suicide.

The memory of this tragic romance did not lose its poignancy for Fet throughout his life, and a number of wonderful poems are associated with this memory.

That grass that is far away on your grave,

Here in the heart, the older it is, the fresher it is...

The words about the ensuing indifference were forgotten forever. The image of Maria Lazic in an aura of trusting love and tragic fate captivated Fet’s poetic feeling for the rest of his life; this image inspired him until his death. From his pen came words of love, repentance, and longing, often surprising in their fearless frankness. In “Evening Lights” a whole cycle of poems appears (not formally separated into a cycle) dedicated to the tragically deceased beloved of Fet’s youth, Maria Lazic. Eternity, immutability, the constancy of the poet’s love for her, his living perception of a long-gone person appear in these poems as a form of overcoming time and death that separate people.

Long forgotten, under a light layer of dust,

Treasured features, you are in front of me again

And in an hour of mental anguish they instantly resurrected

Everything that the soul has long, long ago lost.

Burning with the fire of shame, their eyes meet again

Just trust, hope and love,

And sincere words faded patterns

Blood is driven from my heart to my cheeks.

I am condemned by you, silent witnesses

The spring of my soul and the gloomy winter.

You are the same bright, holy, young,

Like in that terrible hour when we said goodbye.

And I trusted the treacherous sound -

As if there is anything in the world outside of love!

I boldly pushed away the hand that was writing you,

I condemned myself to eternal separation

And with a cold feeling in my chest I set off on a long journey...

("Old Letters")

You understood everything with your infant soul,

What did the secret power give me to say?

And although I am destined to drag out life without you,

But we are together with you, we cannot be separated.

Those eyes are gone - and I'm not afraid of coffins,

I envy your silence,

And, without judging either stupidity or malice,

Hurry, hurry into your oblivion!

(“You suffered, I still suffer...”)

For a long time I dreamed of the cries of your sobs, -

For a long, long time I dreamed of that joyful moment,

As I begged you, the unfortunate executioner.

You gave me your hand and asked: “Are you coming?”

I just noticed two drops of tears in my eyes;

These sparkles in the eyes and cold trembling

I endured sleepless nights forever.

(“For a long time I dreamed of the cries of your sobs...”)

Although memory insists that there is a grave between us,

Even though every day I wander wearily to another, -

I can't believe that you would forget me,

When you're here in front of me.

Will another beauty flash for a moment,

It seems to me that I’m about to recognize you;

And I hear a breath of former tenderness,

And, shuddering, I sing.

(“No, I haven’t changed. Until I’m very old...”)

Fet's love lyrics are fueled more by memories and dreams than by direct feelings. In most of Fet's love poems, verbs are used in the past tense. In the present tense or in the imperative mood (“Don’t avoid; I don’t beg...”, “Forgive - and forget everything in your cloudless hour...”, “Don’t blame me for being embarrassed...”, “Love me! As soon as your humble...", etc.) verbs are given mainly in love poems of the last decade. In the period 1882-1892, in his seventh and eighth decades, Fet wrote especially many love poems, and almost for the first time they talk about the present, and not about past love, addressed to the now beloved, and not just to the image of the former beloved. It would be possible to talk about Fet’s second love cycle if it were known to whom it was addressed - at least to one woman or to several women who aroused a feeling of love in the poet, even whether only new experiences are recorded in these poems or the old ones are creatively transported from the past. For some poems, the latter is difficult to accept - they depict the vicissitudes of love relationships so vividly - but Fet himself explained their origin this way, and devoted several poems to the theme of a former young feeling preserved in the memory of an old man: “V. S. Solovyov" (“You are amazed that I am still singing...”), “Half-destroyed, half-tenant of the grave...”, “Everything, everything is mine that is and was before...”. The last poem begins like this:

Everything, everything that is mine, that is and was before,

In dreams and dreams there is no time of shackles;

The soul did not share the blissful dreams:

There are no dreams of old age or youth.

While on the earthly chest

Although I will have difficulty breathing,

All the thrill of life is young

I will be able to hear it from everywhere.

(“I still love, I still languish...”)

E. V. Ermilova subtly remarks about Fet’s senile love poems: “... this is still the same feeling of falling in love with life, with its eternal beauty, realized by the poet at the end of his years with even greater acuteness.” Fet himself said essentially the same thing:

I'll just meet your smile

Or I’ll catch your joyful glance, -

It’s not for you that I whine a song of love,

And your beauty is indescribable

For Fet, love is the only content of human existence, the only faith. With him, nature itself loves - not together, but instead of a person.

Already at the very beginning of the twentieth century, Fet was called “the singer of silence,” “the singer of the inaudible,” the new reader listened with rapture to Fet’s lines that “they move with an airy foot,” “barely pronounced.” “All the world’s joy and the sweetness of love dissolved into the most refined element and fills its pages with fragrant vapors; that’s why his poems make your heart skip a beat and make your head spin,” wrote the famous literary critic K. Aikhenwald.

In the spring of 1845, Afanasy Fet served as a non-commissioned officer in a cuirassier regiment, which was located in the south of Russia, in the Kherson province. Here Fet, a great connoisseur of beautiful ladies, met and became friends with the Lazic sisters - Elena and Maria. The eldest was married, and the regimental adjutant’s courtship of a woman who sincerely loved her husband led nowhere.

Maria Lazic is a fan of Fet’s poetry, a very talented and educated girl. She also fell in love with him, but they were both poor, and A. Fet for this reason did not dare to join his destiny with his beloved girl. A tragedy soon happened to Maria: she burned to death in a fire that broke out in her room from a carelessly left cigarette. The girl’s white muslin dress caught fire, she ran out onto the balcony, then rushed into the garden. But the fresh wind only fanned the flames... Dying, Maria allegedly asked to keep his, Fet’s, letters. And she also asked that he not be blamed for anything... But the feeling of guilt constantly haunted Fet throughout his life.

In the poet’s memoirs, Maria Lazic appeared as a tall “slender brunette” with “extraordinary luxury of black, bluish-tinged hair.” In memory of past feelings, Fet wrote a poem. Some sounds rush around and cling to my headboard. They are full of languid separation, Trembling with unprecedented love. It would seem, well? The last tender caress sounded, Dust ran along the street, The postal carriage disappeared... And only... But the song of separation Unfulfilled teases with love, And bright sounds rush and cling to my headboard.

Until the end of his days, Fet could not forget Maria Lazich; the drama of life, like a key, fed his lyrics and gave the poems a special sound. It is believed that his love lines had one addressee, these are the poet’s monologues to the deceased Mary, filled with repentance and passionate. Her image was revived more than once in Fetov’s lyrics.

A few years later, after the death of Maria, Afanasy Fet linked his life by legal marriage with the daughter of the tea merchant Botkin. He showed himself to be a good master, increased his wife’s fortune, and in his sixties he finally achieved the highest command and returned the name of his father Shenshin with all the rights belonging to his family and rank.

Fet's lyrics are thematically extremely poor: the beauty of nature and women's love - that's the whole theme. But what enormous power Fet achieves within these narrow limits. The late poems of Fet are amazing. Elderly in life, in poetry he turns into an ardent young man, all of whose thoughts are about one thing - about love, about the exuberance of life, about the thrill of youth (“No, I haven’t changed”, “He wanted my madness”, “Love me! As soon as yours truly”, “I still love, I still yearn”). What happiness: both the night and we are alone! The river is like a mirror and all sparkles with stars; And there... throw your head back and look: What depth and purity is above us! Oh, call me crazy! Call it Whatever you want; at this moment I am weakening in my mind and in my heart I feel such a surge of love that I cannot remain silent, I won’t, I don’t know how! I'm sick, I'm in love; but, suffering and loving - Oh listen! oh understand! - I don’t hide my passion, And I want to say that I love you - You, you alone, I love and desire! 1854

Researchers of the poet's work suggest that Fet's death is suicide. Knowing how destructive alcohol is for him, he, seriously ill, sends his wife for champagne, and after she leaves he quickly dictates to his secretary: “I don’t understand the deliberate increase in suffering, I am voluntarily going towards the inevitable.” He grabs a heavy stiletto for cutting paper, it is taken away, but the corpulent and purple old man, gasping for breath, runs into the dining room. Halfway there he suddenly collapses onto a chair and dies... Fet died in 1892 and was buried near the church in the village of Kleimenov.