And with each autumn I but bloom anew;
Salubrity of mine enjoys the Russian briskness;
For habits' habitude again I love accrue;
In turn flies off the sleep, in turn comes on my sickness;
With ease and happiness my heart its contents brews,
Desires seethe and boil—again I'm joyful swiftness,
Again I'm full of life—such is my organism
(Do kindly me forgive unneeded prosaism).