We took you for rest to that old
Yankee farm,—so lonely
and with so many field mice
in the long grass—
and you return to us
in this condition—!
Oh, black Persian cat.
SUMMER SONG
LOVE SONG
Who shall hear of us
in the time to come?
Let him say there was
a burst of fragrance
from black branches.
FOREIGN
I wonder, my townspeople,
if Artsybashev looks upon
himself the more concernedly
or succeeds any better than I
in laying the world.
I wonder which is the bigger
fool in his own mind.
These are shining topics
my townspeople but—
hardly of great moment.