«In the morning the bitch whelped / Seven reddish-brown puppies, / In the rye barn where a row / Of bast mats gleamed like gold. / Licking their pelts smooth, / And underneath her, the snow / Melted out in the heat. But at dusk, when the hens / Were roosting on the perch, / There cam...»
«I'll glance in the field, glance in the sky — / Both the fields and sky are my paradise. / Again my undone land / Is diving into the stacks of rye. Again, in the untended groves / There are inescapable herds, / And the water from the golden fountain / Is cascading down the green hills...»
«The green hairdo / Maiden's breasts, / Oh, then birch tree, / Why have you stared at the pond? What is the wind whispering to you? / What is the sand ringing about? / Or do you want the moon's comb / In your plaits-branches? Open, open the mystery / Of your forest dreams / I have f...»
«I left the native home, / Left my blue Russia. / The birch wood in three stars over the pond / Warms my old mother's sadness. The moon like a golden frog / Has sprawled on the calm water. / Like the bloom of the apple tree, / Gray hair has appeared in my father's beard. I will not soon...»