I started to read Jack London (before this "Eugenia Onegin" finished). It is difficult to understand that Jack compared to Pushkin is just a nub. Then came the thought that the writer is not Russian in general, and it may be a translator's spell. And only then it came to me that I was reading prose... Unfortunately, at the end of the third paragraph and the size picked up, let's not the rhythm, but the bad white verse was composed :(