«A fine and wingèd beast was I, / I lived in God the Father’s dwelling, / The heavenly scent of lilies my / Delight and nourishment compelling. To blessed motherland was bound, / I’d gained possession of my manhood, / I loved the prayerful Slavic sound / That chimed aloud in desert ...»
«To V. Novokshenov Dwarf birches are what you and I are. / We sit like splinters tight together / beneath the nail of frosty finger. And so the Khanate, permafrosted, / in crudeness beats all it’s accosted. / It’s not ashamed to us embarrass — / does that surprise you, trees of Pari...»
«The sundial traces passing time in shadow. / And through the waves there cuts a passing ship. / And I know nothing better than this tableau — / The sheen of spires, the gleam of waters’ grip! Lane narrows like a slit as it grows darker. / The sparrows perch upon the trolley wires. / M...»
«Although all nature now is dormant, / My love alone it restless lies; / It heeds your breath and every movement / And only you can hold its eyes. So suffer then my conversation, / To me alone your dreams devote; / Reserve for me your adoration / And, as you answer, on me dote. Oh, answ...»