«Nightlong the water labored breathlessly. / Till morning came, the rain burned linseed oil. / Now vapor from beneath the lilac lid / Pours forth: earth steams like shchee that's near the boil. And when the grass, shaking itself, leaps up. / Oh, who will tell the dew how scared I am — / ...»
«to V. V. Goltsev Not long ago the rain walked through this clearing / Like a surveyor. Now with tinsel bait / The lily of the valley's leaves are weighted. / And water got into the mullein's ears. These are the frigid fir trees' quondam nurslings, / Their ear lobes stretched with dew; they...»
«If only, when I made my début, / There might have been a way to tell / That lines with blood in them can murder, / That they can flood the throat and kill, I certainly would have rejected / A jest on such a sour note. / So bashful was that early interest, / The start was something so r...»
«It pleases me that I am not your hurt, / It pleases me that you are not my illness, / That as we step upon the heavy Earth, / Its solidness shall never drift beneath us. / It pleases me that I don’t have to flirt, / That I can be relaxed and wordplay-needless, / In suffocating blush no...»