«Our grandad’s outlandish dream, / the prison years of our heroes, / our hope and our heartfelt lament, / our prayer we hardly dared utter – / our dis-membered / dis-constituted, / dis-banded / Constituent Assembly.»
«In early autumn sweetly wistful, / there is a short but wonderous interim, / when days seem made as though of crystal, / with evenings luminously dim... Without their tillers, empty fields look wider; / where sickles ravaged in the harvester’s ebb, / a single thread left by a spider / ...»
«When at night I wait for her to come, / Life, it seems, hangs by a single strand. / What are glory, youth, freedom, in comparison / With the dear welcome guest, a flute in hand? She enters now. Pushing her veil aside, / She stares through me with her attentiveness. / I question her: "And ...»
«Your work that my inward sight still comes, / Fruit of your graced labours: / The gold of always-autumnal limes, / The blue of today-created water — Simply to think of it, the faintest drowse / Already has led me into your parks / Where, fearful of everything turning, I lose / Conscio...»