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W
What is this gypsy passion for separation, this
We shall not escape Hell, my passionate
We are keeping an eye on the girls, so that the kvass
Where does this tenderness come from?
When I look at the flight of the leaves in
We shall not escape Hell
Wherever you are I can reach you
Waters blue as the sky before us
White is steadfast—Black bids fair to yield.
—Where are the swans? —They went away, the swans.
What—when a soul's born winged—does it care for
Wild wind, whirlwind, snow-wind rocked you in your cradle
When the red-haired impostor, fell Dimitri, (TO MOSCOW )
Who sleeps at night? No one is sleeping. (From Insomnia)
What tears in eyes now (From Poems to Chekhia)
White Guard, your path is set noble and high: (THE DON)