Boris Pasternak
- Us few. Perhaps us three — just..., by Don Mager
- We`re few, perhaps three, hellish fellows..., by Babette Deutsch
«Yesterday reflecting upon death, / My soul suddenly grew bitter. / Sad day! Age-old nature / Gazed at me from the forest's depths. And the anguish of separation / Pierced my heart, and in that moment / I could hear all — the evening grass, / The water talking, and the stone's dead cry...»
«How the world changes! And how I change as well! / I am known by one name only, yet / That which is named by me / Is not I alone. We are many. I am a living being. / So that the blood should not freeze in my veins, / I died many times. Oh, how many dead bodies / Have I raised from my own...»
«Again the crystal dreamstruck vessel / Flashed in the darkness of the wood. Past battling trees and quarrelling wolves, / Where insects drink the sap of plants, / Where stems writhe and flowers moan, / Where predatory nature disposes, / I pressed on towards you, halting upon / Your thre...»
«In this birch grove, / Far removed from trouble and pain, / Where the pink, unwavering light / Of morning pulsates in the heavens, / Where a limpid avalanche / Of leaves pours from on high, / Oriole, sing me a desolate song, / The song of my life. Flying above the glade, / Spying pe...»