Your voice is wild and simple. You are untranslatable Into any one tongue.

The celebrations Of secret nonmeetings are empty, Unspoken conversations, Unuttered words. Glances that don't intersect Don't know where to come to rest. And only the tears rejoice Because they can flow and flow. Sweetbrier around Moscow, Alas! Somehow it is here ... And all this they will call Love eternal.

I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed... here, where I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.

I go forth to seek To seek and claim the lovely magic garden Where grasses softly sigh and Muses speak.

It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.

This cruel age has deflected me, like a river from this course. Strayed from its familiar shores, my changeling life has flowed into a sister channel. How many spectacles I've missed: the curtain rising without me, and falling too. How many friends I never had the chance to meet.

I know beginnings, I know endings too, and life-in-death, and something else I'd rather not recall just now.