«We now observe the rules of winter, / and on the snow impose design / and, in play restraining laughter, / we scoop the white snow from the ground. And then, as if foreseeing ill, / pedestrians crowd about the fence; / an anxious question gnaws at them: / what are they doing, this odd c...»
«Blue was the morning. It was early yet. / Tormented Moscow was still sleeping. / Through the windows, / through the double panes, / Bells suddenly could be heard ringing. And glancing at the sky in fear, / I saw, / through the mist there / from afar, black monks jostling their way... ...»
«By the Moscow River, in Gluboki Street, / Dulcineas peer from windows, / waiting for their Don Quixotes to return / from work, / and from bubbling barley / they compose soups on a blue flame. / Time’s aged them slightly — cares weigh on their eyelids, but... / the Don Quixotes are ...»
«He breathes in the air, breathes in the early grass, / breathes the rushes while they stir, / every song while it can still be heard, / a warm woman’s hand cupped beneath his head. / Breathes, breathes—but cannot breathe enough. Breathes his mother — / ...»