Out of Superstition (Boris Pasternak Poems)
A box of glazed sour fruit compact, My narrow room. And oh the grime of lodging rooms This side the ...
A box of glazed sour fruit compact, My narrow room. And oh the grime of lodging rooms This side the ...
Sigh, wind in the pine;River, weep as you flow;Terrible things were doneLong, long ago.In daylight golden and mildAfter the night ...
Sad-hearted, be at peace: the snowdrop liesBuried in sepulchre of ghastly snow;But spring is floating up the southern skies,And darkling ...
The Bell in the convent tower swung. High overhead the great sun hung, A navel for the curving sky. The ...
Be patient with you? When the stooping sky Leans down upon the hills And tenderly, as one who soothing stills ...
from late december onwards the day comes back but not till february do we see those glimpses that let us ...
FEBRUARY, 1917 I never thought again to hear The Oxford thrushes singing clear, Amid the February rain, Their sweet, indomitable ...
I am the mother of sorrows, I am the ender of grief; I am the bud and the blossom, I ...
Winter has a joy for me, While the Saviour's charms I read, Lowly, meek, from blemish free, In the snowdrop's ...
I How should I seek to make a song for thee When all my music is to moan thy name? ...
I How should I seek to make a song for thee When all my music is to moan thy name? ...
HUMID seal of soft affections, Tenderest pledge of future bliss, Dearest tie of young connections, Love's first snowdrop, virgin kiss! ...
Nay, let us walk from fire unto fire, From passionate pain to deadlier delight, - I am too young to ...
It is full winter now: the trees are bare, Save where the cattle huddle from the cold Beneath the pine, ...
Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round, At Camelot, high above the ...
Deep on the convent-roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon: My breath to heaven like vapour goes; May my ...
THE groundflame of the crocus breaks the mould, Fair Spring slides hither o'er the Southern sea, Wavers on her thin ...
Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round, At Camelot, high above the ...
Now, scarce three paces measured from the mound, We stumbled on a stationary voice, And 'Stand, who goes?' 'Two from ...
The green elm with the one great bough of gold Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one, -- ...
Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing. I want to fill it with color and ducks, The zoo ...
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