I love May's first storms: chuckling, sporting spring grumbles in mock anger; young thunder claps. - Fyodor Tyutchev

Who would grasp Russia with the mind? For her no yardstick was created: Her soul is of a special kind, By faith alone appreciated.

How can a heart expression find? How should another know your mind? Will he discern what quickens you? A thought once uttered is untrue.

Separation has this lofty meaning: if love lasts years, if but a day it takes, love's just a dream and we're a moment dreaming, and whether early, whether late the waking, the time must finally arrive when we awake.