«The more the autumn wind is wicked / And the moon desperate, — / The merrier we, vagrants, get / With a bottle of wine. We wandered the whole day through / The field, with a sleuth and a rifle… / We are comrades — nothing more — / Unacknowledging sorrow. What is love? Rapture, ...»
«We create cities from boulders, / Appreciate clear thoughts and precise numbers, / And it is unpleasant and strange for the soul / When the wind drawls a bleak meaningless song. Or the sea laps noisily. Neither hope, nor desire, / All that is precious to us, will not find an answer in them....»
«In the green church beyond the hill, / Where the willows dropped their rosaries, / I commemorate with the prosphora / Of juvenile spring the tales of youth. And you, bowing down / In front of me, stand invisibly, / The silks of lowered eyelashes / Make the wings of cherubim flap. Your ...»
«Fog covered the distance, / The moon combs the clouds. / Red evening behind the fish string / Spreads a curly drag net. Under the window, the wind / Oversang through slippy willows. / Quiet gloom, a warm angel, / Slaked by foreign light. The izba’s slumber, effortlessly, sows / Par...»