And the town is frozen solid in a vice, Trees, walls, snow, beneath a glass. Over crystal, on slippery tracks of ice, the painted sleighs and I, together, pass. And over St Peters there are poplars, crows...
Here is my gift, not roses on your grave, not sticks of burning incense. You lived aloof, maintaining to the end your magnificent disdain. You drank wine, and told the wittiest jokes,...
I taught myself to live simply and wisely, to look at the sky and pray to God, and to wander long before evening to tire my superfluous worries. When the burdocks rustle in the ravine...
I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . . "Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?" -- Because I have made my loved one drunk with an astringent sadness.
Lying in me, as though it were a white Stone in the depths of a well, is one Memory that I cannot, will not, fight: It is happiness, and it is pain. Anyone looking straight into my eyes...
I have enough treasures from the past to last me longer than I need, or want. You know as well as I . . . malevolent memory won't let go of half of them: a modest church, with its gold cupola...
In the heart, the memory of the sun fades, Yellower turns the grass. The wind disperses the early flakes Barely, with each pass. In narrow channels, water won’t flow – Cooling, stands still....
How helplessly chilled was my chest, yet My footsteps were nimble and light. I unconsciously put on my left hand The glove that belonged on my right. It seemed that the stairs were endless,...
Twenty-first. Night. Monday. Silhouette of the capitol in darkness. Some good-for-nothing -- who knows why-- made up the tale that love exists on earth.