«My sweet friend, and in this quiet home, / Beats a fever me, the same. / I can’t find a place in quiet home / By its always peaceful flame! Voices sing, a blizzard calls, I hear, / Comfort is my cross... / E’en behind your shoulders, oh my dear, / Someone’s eyes wait for me close!...»
«Night, streets, the lantern, the drugstore, / The meaningless and dusky light. / A quarter of the century more — / All fall the same into your sight! You died — as it was before — / You have the former way to start: / The streets, the lantern, the drugstore, / Swell of the canal ...»
«The river stretched. It flows, idly grieves, / And washes both banks. / In steppe, above light clay of cliffs / Rinks mourn in ranks. O Russia! Dear wife! With clearness and pain / We see the lengthy way! / It sent an arrow of ancient Tartar reign — / In breast it lay. The way throug...»
«Your sweetheart forever leaving, / Friend, you swear me to love!.. / And in lands of boring living / To preserve the pledge above!.. Outside our Denmark, happy, / Your dark shores lay in grief... / And the tide, enraged and gabby, / Washes tears on a reef... Dressed not in the silk ...»