«My white-fingered one, my dark princess. / Marina Tsvetaeva My double and my jester, unseen, / You who hide at the heart of bushes, / Who nestle in the house of the stare, / Who flit among cemetery crosses. / Who call from the Marinkina Tower: / "Here I am, I’m home today. / Cherish...»
«In Memory of Innokenty Annensky And the one whom I think of as the teacher / Passed like a shade and left no shadow. / He drank all the torpor, all the poison, / And waited himself in vain for fame. / He who was the omen, and the portent, / Had compassion for all, breathed their torment, ...»
«This I give you, instead of graveyard roses, / Instead of burning sticks of incense: / You died as staunchly as you lived, / With that magnificent disdain. / You drank wine and joked, the wittiest, / Though suffocating behind stifling walls, / You yourself let in the dreaded guest, And ...»
«Almost, it cannot be: you were always there: / In the shade of blessed lime-trees, the hospital, the siege, / The prison-cell, and where there were evil birds, / Copious grasses, dreadful tides. / How all has changed, yet you were always there, / And it seems they have taken half my soul, ...»