Better The Illusions That Exalt Us Than

Moscow... How Many Strains Are Fusing In That One Sound, For Russian Hearts! What Store Of Riches It Imparts!

Inspiration Is Needed In Geometry, Just As Much As In Poetry.

As Long As There Is One Heart On Earth Where I Still Live, My Memory Will Not Die.

Sad That Our Finest Aspiration, Our Freshest Dreams And Meditations, In Swift Succession Should Decay, Like Autumn Leaves That Rot Away.

I Have Outlasted All Desire, My Dreams And I Have Grown Apart; My Grief Alone Is Left Entire, The Gleamings Of An Empty Heart. The Storms Of Ruthless Dispensation Have Struck My Flowery Garland Numb, I Live In Lonely Desolation And Wonder When My End Will Come. Thus On A Naked Tree-limb, Blasted By Tardy Winter's Whistling Chill, A Single Leaf Which Has Outlasted Its Season Will Be Trembling Still.