«To my dear friend K. M. Fofanov1 This day of spring is hot and gold, / The city's entirely blinded by the sun. / I'm once more me, I'm once more young, / I'm once more happy and deep in love. My soul sings and yearns for the countryside. / Everyone I address as a brother... / What boundl...»
«Bells ring, moaning, re-intoning. / Tolling sighs, extolling dreams. / Hills are high and overgrown in / Green; with green each sloping gleams. / Walls have a fresh white exterior: / Orders from Mother Superior! / And the sexton’s daughter waits — / Crying at the convent’s gate. ...»
«Let your Mind’s fire break through the roaring, / Just concentrate, forget the past / And try to grasp that a new era / Has come; you’re now the least, the last. And all you knew, all you discovered / In your books’ jungles, your dream’s shout / Lies as a trace that’s hardly not...»
«She stands there with a sly expression, smiling. / Holding a huge scroll in her marble hands. / She notes life, death, and fame in her compiling, / Records all time, all people in all lands. And she (who’s not to blame) gets bored and weary / With fates of slaves, chiefs, races, patriarch...»