«Neither by cart nor boat / Could you have got here. / On rotten snow / The deep water; / Farmsteads marooned and / Ah! that morose / Soul, that Robinson, / Is so close. / How often can / He inspect sledge and skis, / Return to the divan / To sit and wait for me? / And his sho...»
«Lying in me, as though it were a white / Stone in the depths of a well, is one / Memory that I cannot, will not, fight: / It is happiness and it is pain. / / Anyone looking straight into my eyes / Could not help seeing it, and could not fail / To become thoughtful, more sad and quiet ...»
«O there are words that should not be repeated, / And he who speaks them — is a spendthrift. / Inexhaustable is the sky’s blue spindrift / Alone, and the mercy of the Redeemer. »
«The cuckoo I asked / How many years I would live… The / Pine tops shivered, / A yellow shaft fell to the grass. / In the fresh forest depths, no sound… / I am going / Home, and the cool wind / Caresses my hot brow. »