«Panmongolism! The word’s barbaric, / Yet still falls sweetly on my ear, / As if it were a mighty portent / Of God’s great destiny for man. When, in Byzantium’s corruption, / The sacred altars’ fire grew cold, / And the Messiah was abjured / By priest and people, prince and tsar,...»
«Forgotten, cold, my dust will fall asleep / while you are entering your life's sweet May. / One moment then, with magnanimity, / read through these verses that once came to me. And with a maiden's keen and thoughtful heart / you'll understand my words' wild ecstasy, / and why it was I oft...»
«O, ich weiß, du holde Kleine, / Daß dich nicht die Mondnacht schreckt: / Hab ich doch im Schnee am Morgen / Deiner Schuhe Spur entdeckt! Freilich schweigt beim Mondenscheine / Hell und kalt die Mitternacht; / Freilich hast du Grund, du Kleine, / Daß alsdann dein Auge wacht: Diamante...»
«I always s like the northern birches: / Their view, so downcast and grave, / The fever, which poor souls scorches, / Cools like the mute speech of a grave. But yet, the willow, which branches, / With their long leaves, cast in a flood, / Is closer to a dream, that scourges, / And longe...»