«For M. Lozinsky It goes on without end — the day, hevy and amber! / How impossible is grief, how vain the waiting! / And with a silver voice, again the deer / Speaks in the deer-park of the Northern Lights. And I believe that there is cool snow, / And a blue font for those whose hands ar...»
«We’re all drunkards here. Harlots. / Joylessly we’re stuck together. / On the walls, scarlet / Flowers, birds of a feather, / / Pine for clouds. Your black pipe / Makes strange shapes rise. / I wear my skirt tight / To my slim thighs. / / Windows tightly shut. / What’s ...»
«My feather was brushing the top of the carriage / And I was looking into his eyes. / There was a pining in my heart / I could not recognise. / / The evening was windless, chained / Solidly under a cloudbank, / As if someone had drawn the Bois de Boulogne / In an old album in black I...»
«Gift haphazard, unavailing, / Life, why wert thou given to me? / Why art thou to death unfailing / Sentencing by dark destiny? / / Who in harsh despotic fashion / Once from Nothing called me out, / Filled my soul with burning passion / Vexed and shook my mind with doubt? / / I ...»