«Tôi cứ ngỡ biết bao người lính trẻ / Từ chiến trường xưa đẫm máu không về / Không phải họ nằm yên trong đất mẹ / Mà hóa thành sếu trắng giữa trời kia. / / Sếu vẫn bay như thế tự ngày xưa / Bay đến bây giờ, và cất ti...»
«In room next door, all swathed in empty murk, / The clock first wheezed, then struck its twelve long beats, / And, taking turns, each second sans surcease, / Went pounding on to where death’s angels lurk, / / Then (precious interval) they called a sudden halt, / Before resuming coinin...»
«Sister my life burst forth today / In torrents of spring rain, everywhere. / But people in jewels are highly squeamish / And bite politely, like hidden vipers. The older people have their reasons for this; / ...»
«In december at dawn — there was happiness, / But only — one moment; / The real, the first happiness, / Not the books coming from! In january at the dawn — the greif'd come / For moment, only one! / But the real, bitter grief, hard / For the first time!»