Boris Pasternak (10 February 1890 - 30 May 1960 / Moscow)
Poems of Boris Pasternak
|62.||My desk is not so wide that I might lean||4/3/2010|
|65.||O had I known that thus it happens...||4/3/2010|
|66.||Oh terrible, beloved! A poet's loving||4/3/2010|
|67.||On a fateful day, an unlucky time||4/3/2010|
|68.||On Early Trains||4/3/2010|
|69.||On The Steamer||4/3/2010|
|70.||Out of Superstition||4/3/2010|
|75.||Snow Is Falling||4/3/2010|
|76.||So they begin. With two years gone...||4/3/2010|
|77.||Sometime at a concert hall, in recollection...||4/3/2010|
I dreamt of autumn in the window's twilight,
And you, a tipsy jesters' throng amidst. '
And like a falcon, having stooped to slaughter,
My heart returned to settle on your wrist.
But time went on, grew old and deaf. Like thawing
Soft ice old silk decayed on easy chairs.
A bloated sunset from the garden painted
The glass with bloody red September tears.