«They say we plough shallow, / always tripping and slipping, / but it’s hard to plough boldly / on the soil we’ve been given. We plough in a graveyard / just tickling the topsoil, / afraid our blades may turn up / bones of dead people.»
«Pursued by howling foes, / I run a mortal race; / The newly fallen snow / Is so nice for chase. / / The hooting, tally-ho'ing / Surrounds me, high-pitched. / Saliva bubbles and foams in / The jaws of an old bitch. / / The world of rimy snouts, / Of canine bloodshot eyes, / ...»
«To my dear friend K. M. Fofanov1 This day of spring is hot and gold, / The city's entirely blinded by the sun. / I'm once more me, I'm once more young, / I'm once more happy and deep in love. My soul sings and yearns for the countryside. / Everyone I address as a brother... / What boundl...»
«The gold stars are sleeping, / The mirror-pond trembles, / The dawn light comes creeping / And heaven's net reddens. The birch-tree smites sleepily, / Her silk locks free-flowing, / Green earrings are rustling. / And silver dew glowing. Tall nettles by the fencing / Their bright pear...»