«— Ma, reci, stari, niste dali / Svu Moskvu, što je požar spali, / Francuzima tek tako. / Da, vi pokazaste kuražu, / Žestoka bitka planu, kažu, / Dan Borodina, svi se slažu, / Kod Rusa pamti svatko. — Da, ljude stvori naše vrijeme, / Junake, a ne ovo pleme / Opači...»
«I like you well, O trusty dagger mine, / My comrade wrought of cool Damascus steel! / Forged were you by the Georgian with revenge in the mind, / By the Circassian free — for war were you made keen. A lily-white hand it was gave you to me — / You were affection's keepsake, its last gift...»
«We walk along the streets like in a dream. / We look at women, and we coffee drink. / But real words we still can not reveal, / And the approximate we do not feel. What shall we do? Go back to Petersburg? / Or fall in love? Or blow the Operá? / Or simply lie in bed — which’s cold, / ...»
«für Valerij Brjusov Was für ein unruhiger Leichnam! / Wie oft steht doch ihr Sarg ganz leer. / Der sich am Trauerschrecken freute, / Schaut auf die Stirn, die spitz und hehr. Ich hör den Duft der Grabesstelle, / Des Totengräbers Spatenschlag, — / Sie traten ein. Wie zum Duelle / ...»