«The Statue of Peace Among the gilded bath-houses and obelisks of glory / Is a white maiden, with thick grass all around. No thyrsus pleases her, she strikes no cymbals. / And the white marble Pan does not love her. Only the cold fogs have caressed her, / Leaving black wounds from their mois...»
«With an undivined harrowing the date / Has arrived in time today; with a / Rush the rain beats on the window / Panes, the wind tries the door hook. It is as if everything in the house / Were extinct... My fire is yellow / And black; somewhere a horse is treading / Heavily with a rustlin...»
«Finely, finely, as though from a / Sieve, the fog rains into the tarantass. / The pale day rises angrily, unable / To shake off its dizziness. My long road is empty and flat... / Only at the black villages, endless / And ever more melancholy, like / Slanting rain, is there a wattle fenc...»
«My heart is at home. My heart is glad. But what makes it glad? / The shadow of the house? The garden’s shadow? I don’t understand. The garden is old, all the aspens-it’s terrible how lank they are! / The house is in ruin... What a lot of slime there is in the ponds! What a lot of losses!...»