«Although all nature now is dormant, / My love alone it restless lies; / It heeds your breath and every movement / And only you can hold its eyes. So suffer then my conversation, / To me alone your dreams devote; / Reserve for me your adoration / And, as you answer, on me dote. Oh, answ...»
«The last of nightingales of spring are singing / Their lovely trilling songs are yet unfinished / And on your bed in glimmer now diminished / The froth of rosy hawthorn’s pearls is stringing, Like suicidal man the railway arches / Are under rushing locomotives lying / My life above dark...»
«His lips another prayer are mute repeating, / But in his head he’s reading balance sheets. / And wrapped in fur and not exchanging greeting / The trading folk are rushing down the streets. Across the imperial city fires are smoking, / And bolts and locks resound with clanging blows, / A...»
«The dark of night is lying on the Georgian hills; / Before me churns Aragva’s chatter. / I’m sad and languid; melancholy’s brightness spills; / Of you, my sorrow’s brooding matter, / Of you, of you alone… My sadness can’t be touched / By tortured spirit’s ...»