«Through the dark gypsy camp, the streets of night, I shall be rushing / Seeking a blossoming alder branch in a black-springed sleigh, / For a bonnet of snow I shall be searching, for the endless mill-wheel noise. I remember a chestnut strand of hair — as a misfired shot / Smoked through wit...»
«I cannot breathe; the solid earth wriggles with worms / and not a star speaks out. / Yet the gods know there is music aloft, / for the station trembles, the Aonians sing, / and, soon to be rent by the engine s whistle, / the air sleeps like a violin. A gleaming park. The glass dome of the...»
«Return to my city, dearer to me than tears, / to its veins, the swollen glands of childhood nights, / return, remembering — swallow, O quickly then / the codliver oil of Leningrad’s rivered lights. / Recognize swiftly that small day of December: / see, in the sinister asphalt, egg yolk...»
«Depriving me of sea, of a space to run and space to fly, / And giving my footsteps the brace of a forced land. / What have you gained? The calculation dazzles. / But you cannot seize the movement of my lips, their silent sound.»