«Everything is as it used to be: there is fine sharp snow / Hitting at the windows of the dining room, / And I myself haven't become new, / But a man came to me. I asked: "What do you want?" / He said, "To be with you in hell." / I laughed: "You'll predict us both, possibly, bad luck." Bu...»
«The land though not mine, / But forever in my memory, / And in the sea, / Tender icy and unsalted water. On the bottom the sand is whiter than chalk, / And the air is drunk, like wine, / And the rosy body of the pine trees / Is naked at the sunset hour. And the sunset itself in the wav...»
«It drizzled, but not even grasses / Would bend within the bag of storm; / Dust only gulped its rain in pellets, / The iron roof — in powder form. The village did not hope for healing. / Deep as a swoon the poppies yearned / Among the rye in inflammation, / And God in fever tossed and ...»
«Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping, / Of February, in sobs and ink, / Write poems, while the slush in thunder / Is burning in the black of spring. Through clanking wheels, through church bells ringing / A hired cab will take you where / The town has ended, where the showers ...»