«It seemed I would never again / Disturb the silence of my soul, / But a star flared up in the window, / And again I pity my soul. Everything died long ago in my soul. / Hatred and anger burned out. / O, my poor soul, just one thing / Is preserved in it: scornful contempt.»
«From this exhausting weakness / Nowhere to go! Nowhere to go! / Which flows around my heart / Like water! Like water! Was it really written — (and by whom?) — / In the heavens, / That two demons, hope and fear, / Should eat into my soul? I won't be saved, I have been struggling / ...»
«All my "I" swings like a pendulum, / And its sweep is very wide. / It sways, slides, alternates: / Now it's hope, now it's fear. From knowing, from not knowing, from flickering / My flesh is dying. / Can you condemn it, O Lord!, / This painful, insane swaying?...»
«All days are fractured as though by crime, / The passage of hoary time grows rusty, / My body's fettered with rigidity, / My heart oppressed and my blood cold as ice. But there comes lightning: everything can change / In a prophetic dream or wide awake. / The sword of the Archangel touche...»