«Ahorn, du mein Ahorn, / eisbedeckt, entblättert, / warum stehst gebeugt du / in dem Schneesturmwetter? Hast du was erblickt hier? / Oder was vernommen? / Scheinst wie zum Spaziergang / aus dem Dorf gekommen. Und auf deinem Wege, / wie ein trunkner Wächter, / frorst du dei...»
«And I shall tell you at the end: / farewell, don’t pledge self to love, helpless. / I go mad, or just ascend / to the high echelon of madness. How had you loved? — You’d put aside / even the Death. But ‘tis not matter. / How had you loved? You’d done that right, / but you ...»
«No, tsarevich, it’s not I — / That you’re fancying in bliss, / Know, my lips just prophesy, / And no longer kiss. And it’s not because I’m tortured / Or by delirium swayed / That I conjure up misfortune: / It is just my trade. I can teach you this, as well, — / To achieve...»
« Out of your memory, I will remove this day, / So that your helpless gaze can question in a drowse: / Where I did see the Persian lilac sway, / The little swallows, and the wooden house? Hearing my name, you’re going to recall / Unnamed desires’ anguish in a snap, / And in despondent...»