«Don't you look at me so reproachfully. / I do not bear malice to you, / But I like your appearance awfully / And your seeming modesty, too / / Yes, you seem to be openhearted, / And I'd rather be glad to see / How a fox pretending departed / Catches crows like you want to catch ...»
«White and dishevelled, she looks outrageous, / Rushing about, brisk and courageous. / / Dark is the night, it is scared to death, and / Clouds, like kerchiefs, have covered the crescent. / / Wind, letting out hysterical hoots, / Whirls like a shot to the back of the woods. / / ...»
«Silver bluebell, are you singing, / Or, perchance, my heart is dreaming? / Light from rosy icon flashes / Falling on my golden lashes. / / Though I'm not that gentle infant / in the flapping splash of pigeons, / Yet my dreams are sweet and distant, / Somewhere in the woodland regio...»
«Over there beyond fields of yellow / There are villages stretching ahead. / There's a wood and the sunset of mellow / And a fence with a nettle thread. / / There over the domes of the temple / Is the turquoise dust of the sky, / And the wind rings the grass, wet and gentle, / A...»