«Once there lived both he and I; / To be friends we had to die. Skeleton, he'd visit me... / Winters, summers... frequently. Simple heart and solid bone; / We strolled this graveyard alone. And with laughter he’d recall / That gay day: our funeral. How they bore box behind box... / Ho...»
«He believed in a golden radiance, / And he died from the arrows of the sun. / He measured centuries with his thinking, / But could not live his life — this one. Don’t laugh at the dead poet: / But come, bring him a wreath. / On the cross — winter, summer / There bangs my porcelai...»
«Enough: do not wait, do not hope. / Disperse, my poor people, my race! / O torturous years without hope, / Break up, disappear into space! Long centuries of serfdom and need. / O Motherland, allow me then / Tears for your expanses. I grieve / For your dark empty spaces again: — Down ...»
«Insanity — and good reason, / Disgrace — and honor, / All, that brings on thoughtfulness, / Is spilling over — In me. — All the penal passions / Become as one! — / All images wage war inside / This hair of mine! The lover's whisper, all around / By rote I know, / Experi...»