«I call not Death the child of darkness, / Nor, with the fancy of a slave, / Give him a scythe to arm his starkness / Nor skeleton from out the grave. O offspring of the air our master, / O ornament with brilliant charms, / You bear no scythe that brings disaster / But peaceful olive in ...»
«I like a storm at May’s beginning. / When Spring’s first thunder with wild cries. / As though in frolic gaily spinning / Rumbles all round the pale-blue skies. Then the young thunderbolts are clanging. / Rain splashes, up the dust is borne. / From dripping boughs bright pearls are han...»
«Dear one, I love thine eyes, amazed / By their quick play and brilliancy; / When of a sudden they are raised. / It is as if the whole wide sky / With heavenly lightning burned and blazed. But stronger magic doth inspire / Those eyes when suddenly cast down / In fevered moments of desire...»
«Sing not, nightingale, / Under my window; / Fly away to the woods / Of my own country! / Learn to love the window / Of my soul’s maiden! / Sing to her tenderly / Of my agony; / Sing of me without her, / Waning, withering. / As the grass on the steppe. / Autumn facing it. / ...»