«You are young, long-limbed! With such / A marvelously molded, winged body! / How awkwardly and with such difficulty / You drag around your spirit, anguish-stunned! Oh, I know that spirit’s way of moving / Through whirlwinds of the night and ice-floe gaps, / And that voice which rises in...»
«My blood and my rhymes have a shortage. / We’re no longer whinnying or snorting, / We don’t frolic, or slant our eyes – / We’re reconciled to this life! With age we’ve become more docile, / We dream of the warmth of the stable, / We have forgotten wild oats, / Remembering our...»
«To Maria Petrovna Maksakova Does winter really have thunderstorms / And sky that’s bluer than a blueprint? / I like your having eyes that slant, / And also that your soul is slanted. I like the headlong briskness of your gait, / The chilly feeling of your shoulders, / Your frivolous an...»
«My unglorious day is waning, / Finally the end has come… / Oh, my ash-tree ice! My verses, / Light-transparent frigid ones! I do not intend to leave my / Useless goods to anyone. / I shine up the crystal and the / Silver for myself alone. And my icon lamp is burning, / Getting rosy...»