«I love to play the idle spy, / And watch, oblivious to all, / A swoop-flit swallow on the fly, / O’er pond as evening nears nightfall. Look there, see how she darts and skims / Along the lip of glazed-smooth mere; / I’m worried lest a ripple’s whims / Snatch up her blitzwing on th...»
«A wondrous Moscow day in May, / Each cross on church aglitter, / Outside the swallows roundelay, / Their gurgle-chirp and twitter. By window seated in love’s sway, / My young soul sick, besotted, / The belfies’ bee-buzz far away / The air with droning slarted. Then suddenly came on...»
«I come to you with daybreak greeting, / To tell you of the risen sun, / Of how its rays, with shade competing, / Across the glints of foliage run; To tell you that the woods have woken, / With every branch and twig that sing, / Each feather-flit of bird a token / Of nature’s yearning ...»
«Across skies of midnight an angel did fly, / While singing a melody softly; / The moon and the stars and the dark clouds on high / Were at ease as they hearkened to holiness lofty. He sang of the bliss of all wraiths without sin / Who dwell in lush gardens nirvanic; / He sang of Great God...»