Boris Pasternak Poems
|62.||My desk is not so wide that I might lean||4/3/2010|
|65.||Mary Magdalene II||4/3/2010|
|66.||Mary Magdalene I||4/3/2010|
|70.||Lessons of English||4/3/2010|
|72.||It's spring, I leave a street where poplars...||4/3/2010|
|73.||It is not seemly to be famous...||4/3/2010|
|75.||In the Wood||4/3/2010|
|76.||In Memory of Marina Tsvetaeva||4/3/2010|
|78.||In everything I seek to grasp...||4/3/2010|
Stars were racing; waves were washing headlands.
Salt went blind, and tears were slowly drying.
Darkened were the bedrooms; thoughts were racing,
And the Sphinx was listening to the desert.
Candles swam. It seemed that the Colossus'
Blood grew cold; upon his lips was spreading
The blue shadow smile of the Sahara.
With the turning tide the night was waning.