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A review by i_hate_books
The Gift by Vladimir Nabokov
5.0
A gift indeed.
imagined ones must close some day.
Onegin from his knees will rise—
but his creator strolls away.
And yet the ear cannot right now
part with the music and allow
the tale to fade; the chords of fate
itself continue to vibrate;
and no obstruction for the sage
exists where I have put The End:
the shadows of my world extend
beyond the skyline of the page,
blue as tomorrow’s morning haze—
nor does this terminate the phrase.
Spoiler
Good-by, my book! Like mortal eyes,imagined ones must close some day.
Onegin from his knees will rise—
but his creator strolls away.
And yet the ear cannot right now
part with the music and allow
the tale to fade; the chords of fate
itself continue to vibrate;
and no obstruction for the sage
exists where I have put The End:
the shadows of my world extend
beyond the skyline of the page,
blue as tomorrow’s morning haze—
nor does this terminate the phrase.