«The fifth of the year’s seasons / One can’t extol it enough. / Breathe before freedom ceases, / All because, it is — love. / High up, the sky elevates, / The contours of things are light, / And the body won’t celebrate / The anniversary of its plight.»
«I myself had all the say / In my dear friend’s destiny: / On Annunciation Day, / I released him pensively. / But the blue-grey dove decided / To soar back to me, / Now, with archangel’s robe alighted, / The room gleams brilliantly.»
«You dreamt of me, I knew, / And hence, I couldn’t sleep. / The lantern flickered blue / And there, my path ran steep. You saw tsarina’s garden / And palace, and approached / The fence’s old black pattern, / Next to the stony porch. You ran, not knowing the way, / And thought: â...»
«A frigid sun. From the parade, / The soldiers march away. / I cannot feel my worry’s weight / This January day. I recognize each branch in sight / And every silhouette. / In awe, I watch the crimson light / Drip through the frosty net. An off-white house stood here then, / Its porc...»