«Books and a pencil case in a strap, as I / Sauntered home, with the school receding. / These lindens, I’m sure, won’t forget the time, / My merry boy, of our very first meeting. / Only now that little cygnet, once gray, / Changed, becoming a haughty swan, / And sorrow descended like ...»
«Ever since St. Agrafena’s day, / He has kept my crimson shawl. / He gloats like King David, enthralled. / His frosty cell has walls of gray, / And no one talks to him at all. I’ll go to his door and stand in his way, / “Return my shawl to me!” I’ll say. »
«With you, I will not drink wine. / All because, you’re naughty and sly. / I know — it’s normal for your kind, / To kiss any girl beneath the night sky. But we have — quiet, peaceful skies / By God’s grace. And there’s no command for bright ...»
«The evening at the desk, in peace, / The page is white beyond repair. / Mimosa smells of warmth and Nice / A large bird flies in moonlit glare. / And, plaiting my braids for the night, / As if I must wear them tomorrow, / I stare at the sandbars outside / And the sea, no longer in sorr...»