And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened.  He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight.  And down we went.

Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.​

​​Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
with a shower of rain; we stopped in the Colonnade,
and went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
and drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch

  April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.​



The Burial of the Dead