«So who has seen the Kremlin’s morning flash, / When over Moscow drapes a misty cling, / When, proud and simple, ’twixt the churches’ gash, / Gleams white the giant tower, like a king?»
«Alive, not dead, do draw me in, / Dense forest footpath, make me follow! / Oh greetings to you, brothers green, / O vibrant blue of dark tree hollow! I do not come with iron will, / In hope of earning church’s blessing, / But, weeping, on my knees I fall, / To silver birch’s base Iâ...»
«A death is often quite a simple business, / Without a thought or illness life can end. / But fate for Russian bard’s a fickle mistress — / To him a shining death she doesn’t send. For flighty soul a bullet’s so much better / To prise the gates to heaven’s realm apart, / Or shrie...»
«The sower goes along the even furrows’ score. / He follows course of generations long before. The glinting grain reflects the sun in sower’s hand. / But fall it must on rich black earth’s beloved land. Beneath, where blindly burrows earthworm cold and deep, / Concealed for long, it die...»