«Read only what children would read, / and dream what children think matters; / once the great things lie scattered, / shake off grief and rise to your feet. Existence exhausts me to death — / oh nothing it owns is of worth. / But I love this desolate earth: / I’ve never known any pl...»
«Against the pale-blue enamel / that April makes conceivable, / the branches of birch trees will stand / and gradually ripen to evening. Their pattern is sharp and complete, / that stiffened gauze is fine, / like a drawing that somebody’s neatly / traced out on a plate of china. Some ...»
«No moon but a clock-face. How’s it a sin / that while it dazzles my eyes I examine / the muted stars’ milky light? Poet Batyushkov, son to a parson, / how he’d spout on. “What’s the time?” they’d ask him. / “Eternity”, he replied.»
«Oh, heart’s remembrance! You are, yet, / Mush stronger than sad one of reasons; / And, often in a distant land, / Bewitch me with your even sweetness. / I hear the sound of your word, / I see the blue of eyes, so dear, / I see your golden locks, right here, / Of the hair so negligent...»