«My poems! Witnesses of unavailing / Tears for the sad earth shed! / Born in the moment when the soul is failing, / And by the storm-winds bred; / Against men's hearts you beat with wistful wailing / Like waves on cliffs as dead.»
«The capitals are rocked with thunder / Of orators in wordy feuds. / But in the depths of Russia, yonder, / An age-old awful silence broods. / Only the wind in wayside willows, / Coming and going, does not cease; / And corn-stalks touch in curving billows / The earth that cherishes and ...»
«In the valley the birches are bored. / On the meadows, fog billows and weighs. / Sodden, with horse-dung floored, / The highroad blackens in haze. Rich on the steppe's sleepy air, / The odor of freshly-baked bread. / Bent to their packs, slowly fare / Two beggars to look for a bed. Rou...»
«I'm a plain girl, whose hands are stained with earth. / He is a fisherman he's gay and keen. / The far white sail is drowning in the firth. / Many the seas and rivers he has seen. The women of the Bosphorus, they say, / Are good-looking . . . and I—I'm lean and black. / The white sail d...»