«To F. F. Zelinsky Columns wound round with yellow silks, / And pêche and mauve garments in rather too / Bright a setting; among swirling resins and / Lisping of bells, and the strange rhythms of / Millennial words gently softened in the autumn / Gilt — you come to life today in my memo...»
«Towards noon the mist is still not / Dispersed by the silvery glitter, / Towards noon the mist has become / Even yellower from the sun’s wounds, / It has become even yellower and / Deader... But noon is shining / So sternly that at this hour I / Find unpleasant the twinkling in / M...»
«Balloons, balloons! / Children’s balloons! / Fathers’ money! / Buy my balloons, kind sirs! / Hey, fox fur coat, if you have some to spare, / Don’t begrudge five little kopecks: / I’ll let them go right up to the sky — / Two hours later, get an eyeful, with both your eyes! / ...»
«Thank God, the shadow again! / For some reason, from very / Early above me the whole day / Long this dying lingers, the / Whole twilight day! Between / Old yellow walls, living out / Its bitter captivity, there / Shudders a collapsed balloon, / Dark scarlet, on a string, / Between ...»