«The sky’s blue lacquer grows dim, / And louder the song of the flute, / It’s only a pipe of clay, / There’s no need for its complaint. / Who told it all my sins, / And inspired it to absolve me?.. / Or is its voice repeating / Your last poems to me?»
«Oh, and the day was cold, / In Peter’s wondrous city! / The sunset a crimson bonfire, / And slow shadows thickened. Let him not long for my eyes, / Prophetic and unchanging, / He will have a lifetime of verse, / The prayers of my proud lips.»
«For Nikolai Nedobrovo There’s a secret border in human closeness, / That love’s being, love’s passion, cannot pass — / Though lips are sealed together in dreadful silence, / Though hearts break in two with love’s distress. And friendship too is powerless, and years / Of sublime f...»
«To lose the freshness of speech, the simplicity of feeling, / Isn’t that, for us, like a painter losing the power of sight, / Or an actor, their voice and movement, / Or a lovely woman, her beauty? But don’t try to keep to yourself / This gift the heavens have granted: / We’re conde...»