«Kindling the air, fierce birds with feathers of fire, / Through the white portals of Paradise flamed like desire. / Virgin vistas reared, lit with quivering red, / And beyond seas were the trackless wanderers fled. But on the pillars of marble, on the threshold were thrown / Crimson shadows...»
«The posters shout, their gorgeous motley blares, / The signboards' groaning fills the street, / And from the shops a shrill light sharply flares, / As cries of triumph mock defeat. / Behind the glimmering panes soft fabrics sleep, / And diamonds pour their poison daze, / Above massed coi...»
«On slow and smoky fire thou burn'st and art consuméd, / Oh, thou, my soul. / On slow and smoky fire thou burn'st and art consuméd, / With hidden dole. Thou droopest like Sebastian, pierced with pointed arrows, / ...»
«"Trample their Paradise, Attila!" / — Vyacheslav Ivanov. Where do you stray, heavy Huns, / Who weigh on the world like a cloud? / Far, under Asian suns, / Your cast-iron tread is loud. Swoop down in a drunken horde / From your dark encampments, rise / In a tide of crimson poured / ...»