«Night raises its shroud — / And the waves murmur, as foes. / I hear, daughter of Lordly Abysses, / Your immortal steps!.. Departed! Is it not how all of you / Step across the threshold / Of atrocious elements? And, as lions, / They lie at your feet — And lick your elongated shroudâ...»
«To A. N. Chebotarevsky Hilly groves, caved with crimson, / Blue, scowling mountains far away… / In the back-country, on refined thorns, /     Climbs the wild hop. An errant ray of silvery light… / As in a coffin, the Earth gets colder / And clears off with the exuberant grief...»
«Children of the city, withered faded flowers, / I love you for the completion that a dream empowers. If only this forehead would smooth out from strain, / If only these eyes were not so sad and drained, If only these bodies were not starved and thin, / How much joyful enmity would have surge...»
«In memory of Pyotr Nesterov He ascended hence skyward, to airy blue heights, / Those skies seemed his natural home, / He defended our mother, our Russia beloved, / Protected her heavenly dome. And while flying alone our winged warrior spied / Three enemy ships out to kill. / Now imp...»