Loneliness - Poem by Ivan Bunin
The rain and the wind and the murk
Reign over cold desert of fall,
Here, life's interrupted till spring;
Till the spring, gardens barren and tall.
I'm alone in my house, it's dim
At the easel, and drafts through the rims.
The other day, you came to me,
But I feel you are bored with me now.
The somber day's over, it seemed
You were there for me as my spouse.
Well, so long, I will somehow strive
To survive till the spring with no wife.
The clouds, again, have today
Returned, passing, patch after patch.
Your footprints got smudged by the rain,
And are filling with water by the porch.
As I sink into lonesome despair
From the vanishing late autumn's glare.
I gasped to call after you fast:
Please come back, you're a part of me, dear;
To a woman, there is no past
Once love ends, you're a stranger to her;
I'll get drunk, I will watch burning logs,
Would be splendid to get me a dog.
Comments about Loneliness by Ivan Bunin
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl