«Like a gad-fly, the others’ woe’s: / You’d wave away it — still back it goes, / You’d go out — it’s late to go, / It’s in the air that’s hot and raw. / You’d try to breathe — it strangles you here. / It is possessed — it does not hear, / It comes… in nights...»
«You say to me that I am mute — / But you’re the jealous one and loud. / I’m not a wolf nor Paris — wood, / But life from life can’t be seized out. / Yes, I’ve been there, where dark and gray, / Like a pine forest of old stone, / Making great noise, Great City stays — / ...»
«It’s awful not to live but only sleep... / To see all's being ever multiplied, / To have in past so wildly many sins, / That it’s a shame to look up at the sky. When can I pray for mercy for my sins? / I’m on the last of circles’ strong incline. / But most dread and shameful ...»
«The vomit of the war — the feast of the October! / From all this wine, that desperately stinks, / Oh, how loathsome was later your hangover, / My country, sunk in poverty and sins! To please which dogs or swarms of awful demons, / To what a dream of what an evil sleep, / The people kill...»