«One goes in straightforward ways, / One in a circle roams: / Waits for a girl of his gone days, / Or for returning home. But I do go — and woe is there — / By a way nor straight, nor broad, / But into never and nowhere, / Like trains — off the railroad.»
«On the whitest porch of Eden, / Looking back, he cried, “I wait!” / He bequeathed to me life written / For a pauper and a saint. And when heavens are transparent, / Sees, while ringing with his wings, / How I share my meal barren / With a bagger who it needs. And when, as if after ...»
«Our so holly and beautiful craft / Exists from a dawn of the world… / With it — world’s enlighten’d without a light. / But still not a single bard said the word: / “There is no wisdom, and no the old, / And death is a tale, just twice told.”»
«And we’ve forgotten till doomsdays, / In the wild capital — our prison — / The towns, steppes, dawns and lakes / Of our great land, as if in treason. / In a bloody circle, day and night, / We’re pined by the abusive leisure… / And none to help us in our plight, / ...»