«Our grandad’s outlandish dream, / the prison years of our heroes, / our hope and our heartfelt lament, / our prayer we hardly dared utter – / our dis-membered / dis-constituted, / dis-banded / Constituent Assembly.»
«In early autumn sweetly wistful, / there is a short but wonderous interim, / when days seem made as though of crystal, / with evenings luminously dim... Without their tillers, empty fields look wider; / where sickles ravaged in the harvester’s ebb, / a single thread left by a spider / ...»
«Down and away flew the melting snow; / cheeks burned red and glistened. / I had not thought the moon was so small / or the clouds so smokily distant. Asking for nothing, I’ll go away, / for my number is up, for ever. / I had not thought the moon was so fair / or so feaful up in heaven...»
«After plodding year after year / through towns in an alien land, / we have ground enough to despair — / and despair is where we must end. For despair is our final refuge — / as if, midwinter, we had come / from Vespers in a nearby church, / through Russian snow, to our home.»