«In your innermost songs there are hidden / Fateful tidings of death. / A curse on sacred commandments, / And a profanation of joy. And such an alluring strength / That I'm ready to pass on the rumor / That you brought angels down / With your seductive beauty... And when you mock faith ...»
«The river spreads out. It flows, sorrowful, lazy / And washes the banks. / Above the bare clay of the yellow cliff / Haystacks languish on the steppe. O my Rus! My wife! Our long path / Is painfully clear! / Our path has pierced our breast like an arrow / Of ancient Tatar will. Our pat...»
«Above the restaurants in the evenings / The sultry air is wild and still, / And the decaying breath of spring / Drives drunken shouting. Above the dusty distant lanes / The boredom of summer homes, / The baker's gold sign barely shines / And a child's crying rings out. Each night, beyo...»
«Night, street, lamp, drugstore, / A dull and meaningless light. / Go on and live another quarter century - / Nothing will change. There's no way out. You'll die, then start from the beginning, / It will repeat, just like before: / Night, icy ripples on a canal, / Drugstore, street, lam...»