«Far off at sea the sails were roving. / Oblivious to the heat, plane-trees / Unfolded their flowers slowly / And lost them to November breezes. I n the old park the branches crowded / Over a bench with whitewashed planes; / The smell of grapes seemed like a cloud / Embracing Georgian wo...»
«Today has not yet come, / And yesterday has melted. / The morning's face is wan: / An actress with no make-up. Her eyelids puffed, the dawn / Is creeping, nude and moody, / And with a weary yawn / Sinks into daily duties... Wise mornings have no haste: / The day is barely shaping, / ...»
«In the evenings, the sultry air above the restaurants / is both wild and torpid, / and drunken vociferations are governed / by the evil spirit of spring. In the dusty vista of lanes / where reigns the suburban tedium of clapboard villas / the gilt sign of a bakery — a giant pretzel — ...»
«Of evenings hangs above the restaurant / A humid, wild and heavy air. / The Springtide spirit, brooding, pestilent, / Commands the drunken outcries there. Far off, above the alley's mustiness, / Where bored gray summerhouses lie, / The baker's sign swings gold through dustiness, / And l...»