«To sighs of morning air, that froze, — / (With her lips opened for a say), / How curiously has smiled the rose / On a September fleeting day! And how has she ever dared / To greet, with air of springy queens, / The single blue-tit, in the bare / Shrubs fleshing in the orb of wings; ...»
«A whispering, timid breathing, / A nightingale’s warbling, / The silver and the flux / Of a drowsy stream, / / Night light, night shadows, / Shadows endlessly, / A series of magical changes / Of a dear face, / / The purple of a rose in smoky clouds / A sheen of amber, / A...»
«Bad weather — autumn — smoke. / Smoking — nothing helps. / If only I could read — but my reading / Creeps along so listlessly. / / The grey day crawls on lazily, / And on the wall / The clock ticks unbearably / In its tireless language. / / My heart gradually grows cold...»
«What a cold autumn! / Put on your shawl and bonnet. / Look: beyond the pines / It’s as if a fire is rising. / / Close to you, I always remember / The radiance of an autumn night; / Its phosphorous eyes still shine, / But they no longer warm me. »