Verses made of Pushkin’s ‘Eugeni Onegin’ in both Russian and English.
Run python onegin.py or python james.py
Python 2.7 is supported, Python 3.0 is not. Sorry.
All the fabulous verses by Alexander Pushkin. All the finest translations by James E. Falen. All the brightest idea by Lisa Bylinina. All the cleanest rhyming solution from Ian Overgard. All the ugliest sticking-it-all-together by Nikolay Yaremko.
The syntax is pretty simple.
You will be asked for a sequence of characters. Each character represents single line of verse. Same characters will result in rhyming lines.
Use numbers (0..9) to create so-called 'female' lines, all other characters will be treated as 'male' ones.
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Оно желудку моему
И чем живет, и почему
(Пустые бредни, небылицы
А между тем две, три страницы)
"Ну, что ж? убит", - решил сосед
Печален страсти мертвой след:
Прочел творенья Фонтенеля
(Что я шутя твердил доселе)?
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Подробно обо всем отдам
По их пленительным следам
На ложи незнакомых дам
Повсюду следовать за вами
Легла волнистыми коврами
Томясь душевной пустотой
Там у ручья в тени густой
Виется пар, и теплотой
Да кстати, здесь о том два слова:
Да, слава богу, ты здорова!
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Потом понравились; потом
То кратким словом, то крестом
Когда б семейственной картиной
И к гробу прадедов теснит
И не проходит жар ланит
Его с разрозненной "Мальвиной
Дней несколько она потом
Невольно думала о том
Мосты чугунные чрез воды
И незваных гостей бранит
Иль розы пламенных ланит
Бухарцы, сани, огороды
A1A1
The time of day by teas and dinners
Recall Moi'na . . . and rejoice
By supper's call. We country sinners
I hear at last your magic voice!
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Amid his pleasures and their blaze,
Or hint of inner lyric grace;
Your candour has a great appeal
Upon the modish word 'ideal',
But neither whist, nor gossip there,
He opens up a door. . . . What's there:
The humble sinner Dmitry Larin
He was a kind and simple barin.
A1A1BB22C33CDD
Good God, man, don't you find it wearing?
Believe me, you 'd have never learned
Like any poet open, caring,
My secret shame, had I discerned.
You fortunate procrastinators,
Now is the time, you hibernators,
They'd shed a tender tear or two,
And these suggest a spa or two.
I'll never let that foul depraver
When in a frenzied state indeed,
And lifting up her veil, she'll read
'It's up to me,' he thought, 'to save her.
'Good gracious, how the years do fly!'
And wallow, friends, both you and I!