«In days gone by, when all of life's / Impressions offered me new thrills: / A murmurous grove, a maiden's eyes, / The nightingale in twilit hills.... / When my sublimest aspirations / For freedom, glory, love and art / Instilled of holy inspiration, / So stirred the blood and spurred t...»
«Why would your sublime pencil draw / The features of my negroid face? / Though meant for future eyes, the devil / Has advocates for its disgrace. Draw Miss Olénina instead. / When inspiration flames the heart, / Nothing but youth and beauty ever / Should summon genius to art.»
«How many of earth’s oceans I’ve sailed, oceans / ancient, gay, foam-covered; / how many matchless nights and days / have gone guiding caravans across the steppes... How we laughed, then, / my Muse and I, free... / Rhymes flew together like birds, / so many — I don’t dare remembe...»
«In that magic forest, towering trees / Unexpectedly come forward from the haze. Out of the earth, roots spring from other roots, / Like the arms of the dwellers of burial vaults. Under the cover of the blazing autumn leaves / Lonesome giants, trolls, and lions used to live. Here sailors ...»