«Why are you so sad, my good artist — / my good painter, musician or bard? / To which one of the tempests, the wildest, / had you spent all your talent and heart? And on which one of parts of the road / had you lost all your wretched cooper coins? / You were going to be a god’s prophet...»
«¿Por qué estás tan triste, mi buen artista, / mi buen pintor, músico o bardo? / ¿A cuál de las tempestades, la más salvaje, / le has gastado todo tu talento y tu corazón? ¿Y en qué parte del camino / perdiste todas tus miserables monedas de cobre? / Ibas a ser un profeta de Dios...»
«Then a friendship, now a duty. / Brother wolf, God be with you! / Our friendship is now dying: / I'm not gift but debt for you. Disturb a verst with a verst, / Send a verst into a verst! / I have petted on a fur — / And I have been missing angst! I'm not making you a villain — / ...»
«Your banners — not mine! / Our heads apart. / Not to betray in the Snake's vice / My Pigeon — Spirit. Not to start in a red round dance / Around a May tree. / Higher than all earthly gates / Are heaven's gates to me. Your victories — and not mine! / Others in hallucination! /...»