«This spring there is a change in everything. / More lively is the sparrows' riot. / I shall not even try to tell of it, / How bright my soul is and how quiet. My thoughts and writings are quite different, / And from the choir's loud octaves singing / The mighty voice of earth is audible /...»
«The drowsy garden scatters insects / Bronze as the ash from braziers blown. / Level with me and with my candle, / Hang flowering worlds, their leaves full grown. As into some unheard-of dogma / I move across into this night. / Where a worn poplar age has grizzled / Screens the moon’s ...»
«Without an accoucheuse, in darkness, pushing her / Blind hands against the night, the Ural fastness, torn and / Half-dead with agony, was screaming in a blur / Of mindless pain, as she was giving birth to morning. And brushed by chance, tall ranges far and wide / Loosed toppling bronze pell...»
«How many buds, how many sticky butts / Of candles, April kindled, now are glued / Fast to the boughs! The park is redolent / Of puberty. The woods' retorts are rude. The forest's throat is caught in a thick knot / Of feathered throats: a lassoed buffalo / Bellowing in the nets as organs p...»