«Sunt mihi bis septem... Those who are stronger than I — try to / Unite them... They are exhausted / And still have not merged: this / Bluish dusk and whitish summit... I am merging and cannot merge this / Piercing March air with the chilly / Night on the thawing snow in the / Stars s...»
«O drops in the stillness of / Night, rattle of the drowsy / Spirit: trembling, they swell / And fall evenly and precisely. In the stixless-sleepless night / I cannot help waiting for their / Clang; the lonely candle’s wick / Winks and flares up, grieving. And it seems that, hiding, I...»
«I wish I could love the clouds at / Daybreak... but their haze is bitter / To me: my bondage then weighs so heavily on / Me, I remember so much that I was young once. I wish I could love their evening, when / Reddening there the rays are extinguished, / But of the sacrifice of their rosy ...»
«Neither with the white boldness of palaces on the / Heights, with striking eagles on the patterned gates, / Nor with the feminine caprice of Arabian designs / Could I more tirelessly indulge my heart. / But in vain I have sought a soul, my own / Soul, in the pink patches among the rocks’...»