Linda, I assume yours must be a translation of the same Pushkin poem. I memorized a third translation of the same poem, which went:
I loved you; even now I may confess
Some embers of my love their fire still retain
But do not let it cause you distress;
I would not want to sadden you again.
Hopeless and tonguetied, yet I loved you dearly
With pangs the jealous and timid know.
So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,
I pray God grant another love you so.