«February. Get ink, shed tears. / Write of it, sob your heart out, sing, / While torrential slush that roars / Burns in the blackness of the spring. Go hire a buggy. For six grivnas, / Race through the noice of bells and wheels / To where the ink and all you grieving / Are muffled ...»
«February. Get ink. Weep. / Write the heart out about it. Sing / Another song of February / While raucous slush burns black with spring. Six grivnas* for a buggy ride / Past booming bells, on screaming gears, / Out to a place where rain pours down / Louder than any ink or tears Where li...»
«I came to see the poet. / Right at noon. On Sunday. / Behind the window panes / Of airy, spacious rooms Deep frost and crimson sun / Hang over tousled smoke… / Oh, how quietly my host / Sets his bright eyes on me! Those eyes of his — / Can never be forgotten. / I know not to lo...»
«The blizzard beats with snow / On my windows, as before. / I have not become new, / Yet a visitor is at my door. I asked, "What do you want?" / "To be in hell with you." / I laughed, "Oh, you will spell / For both of us misfortune." But, lifting his lean hand, / He lightly touched th...»