Spring Shower (Boris Pasternak Poems)
Winked to the birdcherry, gulped amid tears, Splashed over carriages' varnish, trees' tremble.Full moon. The musicians are picking their way ...
Winked to the birdcherry, gulped amid tears, Splashed over carriages' varnish, trees' tremble.Full moon. The musicians are picking their way ...
I lay in the abyss, where twisting squeezingThe lowest form of life pushed itself peristaltically.Where slippery and slimy worm and ...
At the door of my own little hovel, Reading a novel I sat; And as I ...
Little cramped words scrawling all over the paperLike draggled fly's legs,What can you tell of the flaring moonThrough the ...
I How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day! A steely silver, underlined with blue, And flashing where the round ...
I Hoops Blue and pink sashes, Criss-cross shoes, Minna and Stella run out into the garden To play at hoop. ...
I caught rumours of some internal hearing then you appeared with tears squeezing your eyes, hands scrunched up like a ...
it comes like a convict squeezing through bars and is gone before the promptest siren it suddenly turns in the ...
Thou shalt not laugh, thou shalt not romp, Let's grimly kiss with bated breath; As quietly and solemnly As Life ...
Henry of Donnybrook bred like a pig, bred when he was brittle, bred when big, how he's sweating to support ...
He's had the chest pains for weeks, but doctors don't make house calls to the North Pole, he's let his ...
Now let no charitable hope Confuse my mind with images Of eagle and of antelope: I am by nature none ...
What is death, I ask. What is life, you ask. I give them both my buttocks, my two wheels rolling ...
Only a Leather Medal, hanging there on the wall, Dingy and frayed and faded, dusty and worn and old; Yet ...
Three hours ago he blundered up the trench, Sliding and poising, groping with his boots; Sometimes he tripped and lurched ...
Three hours ago he blundered up the trench, Sliding and poising, groping with his boots; Sometimes he tripped and lurched ...
Time that is moved by little fidget wheels Is not my time, the flood that does not flow. Between the ...
And wherefore have they come, this warlike band, That o'er the ocean many a weary day Have tossed; and now ...
Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs, Eyes rolled by white sticks, Ears cupping the sea's incoherences, You house your unnerving ...
Troubled slumbering of things, the curtain blown aside by the gush of the salty wind, the advent of the tide ...
She was four, he was one, it was raining, we had colds, we had been in the apartment two weeks ...
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