«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.»
«Evening hours at the desk, / The page irremediably white, / The mimosa’s scent is of Nice, warmth, / Over the moon some vast bird flies. And, twining my braids for night, / As if I must wear them tomorrow, / I look from the window at sand-dunes, sea, / Free of sorrow. How much power ...»
«Irreparably white the page. Long hours / Spent vainly at a desk. Of warmth and Nice / Smell the mimosa's tiny, yellow flowers. / Caught by the moon's white ray, a large bird flies. It's bedtime, and my long hair plaiting tightly — / As though it mattered!- out the window I, / No longer ...»
«My heart beats smoothly, steadily, / What are long years to me? / Under the Galernaya arch, / Our shadows, for eternity. Through half-closed eyelids, / I see, I see that you’re with me, / And forever held in your hand / Is my unopened fan. Because we stood together, / In that bless...»