«The hum of bees had hardly lapsed into silence, / When the whining mosquito’s sound drew near... / O my heart, for how many delusions have you not / Forgiven the ended day’s disquieting emptiness? I have need of melted snow under the / Yellowness of fire that is shining wearily / Thro...»
«Bending a wall round the muzzle’s spot. / The misty ice is momentarily gilded... / I am confused by your burning prison, / Formerly blue dream of spring! Wearied by vain scintillation, you / Both weep and rend yourself, trembling. / But the sun has no triumphant ray / For miracles in ...»
«I would love winter, but / Its burden is heavy... / Not even smoke can go from / It into the clouds. This incising of lines, / This loaded flight, / This beggarly-blue / And tearstained ice! But I love the snow enfeebled / From blisses beyond the / Clouds — the now sparklingly / ...»
«The grasses are tender, the tombstones / Are white, and copper rings out / Triumphantly: “The blue ice is / Broken up and it must be burnt.” The sun seems to spin, / Forgetting its long winter / Imprisonment, only I hear death’s / Summons in the Easter hymn. Why! under the snow a...»