"The Cloister on Kazbek"

High, o’er the family of tops, lead,
Kazbek, your royal dome’s spread,
And shines with timeless beams around.
Your cloister, hidden behind clouds,
Like some ark of the heaven-land,
Glides, vaguely seen over the mounds.

Oh, distant and desired strand!
There, saying ‘farewell’ to the gorges,
To lift self to the free abode –
Into the cell o’er clouds, gorgeous,
Into the neighborhood of God...

Aleksandr S. Pushkin

"Russian-American Romance" by A.A. Voznesenskiy

In my land and yours they do hit the hay
and sleep the whole night in a similar way.

There's the golden moon with a double shine.
It lightens your land and it lightens mine.

At the same low price, that is for free,
there's the sunrise for you and the sunset for me.

The wind is cool at the break of day,
it's neither your fault nor mine, anyway.

Behind your lies and behind my lies
there is pain and love for our motherlands.

I wish in your land and mine some day
we'd put all idiots out of the way.

"In the Valley of the Elwy"

I remember a house where all were good
To me, God knows, deserving no such thing:
Comforting smell breathed at very entering,
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood.
That cordial air made those kind people a hood
All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing
Will, or mild nights the new morsels of spring:
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should.

Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;
Only the inmate does not correspond:
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,
Being mighty a master, being a father and fond.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

"Peace"

When will you ever, Peace, wild wood dove, shy wings shut,
Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs?
When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I'll not play hypocrite
To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but
That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows
Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?

O surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu
Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite.
That plumes to Peace thereafter. And when Peace here does house
He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo,
He comes to brood and sit.

This and more by Gerard Manley Hopkins can be found here.

"26 May 1828" by A.S. Pushkin

Gift haphazard, unavailing,
Life, why were thou given me?
Why are thou to death unfailing
Sentenced by dark destiny?

Who in harsh despotic fashion
Once from nothing called me out,
Filled my soul with burning passion
Vexed and shook my mind with doubt?

I can see no goal before me;
Empty heart and idle mind.
Life monotonously o'er me
Roars, and leaves a wound behind.