«Three times she tortured me like this. / I awoke with an anguished moan / And saw her thin pale hands / And mouth, scathing and black. / “Who were you kissing at dawn, / As you swore that you’d die if it ends, / And hiding your burning bliss, / Sobbed by the gate near the shack? / ...»
«The same voice and gaze aglow, / That same flaxen hair. / As it was a year ago. / Light-rays streaming through the air / Colors on white walls bestow… / Fragrances of lilies flow / And the simple words you share.»
«I don’t like flowers – they remind of / The funerals and weddings, festive balls, / And fancy dining tables above all… / . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . / Only the timeless roses – charming, light, / Which brought me joy since childhood, somehow / Remain...»
«My night — I think of you obsessively, / My day — indifferent: let it be! / I turned and smiled at my destiny / That brought me only misery. The fumes of yesterday are dire, / The flames that burn me will not die, / It seems to me, this blazing fire / Will not become a sunlit sky. ...»