«Look: it’s not a ball, nor masquerade, / here night’s passing is mistimed, / here wild laughter, wine-besotted, / flies about like a parrot, blind; / hills and bridges come apart, / lovers gather in a crowd, / one is ardent, another jaded, / a third one’s head is bowed... / Lov...»
«Scarlet light of sunset shows up on the lake. / Grouses are crying in the wood, awake. Hidden in a hollow, cries an oriole. / I donТt feel like crying, brightness in my soul. YouТll come out to meet meа later in the day, / WeТll sit down there under stack of hay. I will kiss and squeeze...»
«The crimson light of dawn is woven in the lake. / In the woods, the grouses are crying out, awake. An oriole weeps loud, hidden in the tree. / Only, I’m not crying — filled with ecstasy. You will surely meet me, later on today, / We will sit together on fresh stacks of hay. Like a bloom...»
«Farewell, my friend. Please, let me go. / With the heart, you're beating in my chest. / We are parting now, and we know — / It's for good. One day we'll find it best. Farewell, my friend — no shaking hands, no crying. / Do not sadden your eyebrows too much. / There's nothing new abou...»