«Storms circle round the village, / And through anguished rain, / Flashes of lightning shatter / The sky once again. / It pours as from a flask, / And above assembled birches / A feast of electricity and rain / In fury and chaos merges. / But we walk along the road / Among the bush...»
«Pavillions spread over the square, / The maple leaves kiss the stars. / It's night — a celebration there, / Merriment and festivity in the park. / But when a pyrotechnist hurls / A silvery light from tree-tops to sky, / Poet, don't put your trust / In the night's fantastic bursts. /...»
«Behind an old house, a forest, / In front, a field of oats, / In the sky, a cloud, a silver sphere, / Unprecedented beauty boasts. / With edges vaguely lilac-tinted, / The center threatening and bright... / A wing of a wounded swan somewhere / Drifts slowly out of sight. / And down b...»
«Poets, you should love painting! / For it alone / Can portray on canvas / Signs of an unsettled soul. Remember how Struiskaya, / Draped in satin, looked at us / Out of Rokotov's portrait / From the depths of the past? Her eyes were two clouds, / Half-smiling, half-weeping, / Like t...»