«The high vault is bluer / Than the sky’s solid blue... / Forgive me, happy boy, / The death I brought you — For the roses from every place, / For your foolish words, / That your bold dark face / Pale with love, stirred. I thought: your purpose — / To show an adult’s pride. / ...»
«It’s endless — the heavy, amber day! / Impossible grief, pointless waiting! / And the silver-voiced deer, again, / Under the Northern Lights, belling. And I think there’s cold snow / A blue font for the poor and ill, / And a little sledge’s headlong flow, / To the ancient chime ...»
«For O. A. Glebova-Sudeikina "What do you see, on the wall, dimly alive, / At that hour when the sunset eats the sky? A seagull, on a blue cloth of waters, / Or perhaps it’s those Florentine gardens? Or is it Tsarskoye Seloe’s vast view, / Where terror stepped out before you? Or that on...»
«Sunlight fills my room / With hot dust, lucent, grey. / I wake, and I remember: / Today is your saint’s day. / That’s why even the snow / Is warm beyond the window, / That’s why, sleeplessly, / Like a communicant, I slept.»