«I shall never forget (was it real or fancied, / That far evening?) the yellowish light / Of a sky scorched and riven by flame and, against it, / Rows of streetlamps already alight. It was crowded. The bows scraped the strings, and, lamenting / Love’s swift passing, spoke sadly to me. / ...»
«The house next door has yellow windows. / Every night — every night / The wistful bolts begin to squeak, / Men walk slowly to the gate. The heavy gates are double-locked, / And on the wall — on the wall / Someone silent, someone black / Sits motionless and counts them all. His voic...»
«The house next door has yellow windows. / In the evening, in the evening / Its pensive bolts screech in their hinges, / And people to its gates come streaming. The gates are shut to hold them back, / And on the wall, and on the wall, / Someone unmoving, someone black / Counts people in ...»
«In taverns and winding side streets, / In an electric daydream / I sought the endlessly lovely, / The eternally smitten with speech. The streets were drunk with screams. / There were suns in the shining vitrines. / The beauty of the women's faces! / The proud gazes of the men! These we...»