In the dream, you raved, woman,
And if your dream was really terrible,
He was there, Where, Spata grazed
stuc, striding silence.
Then you're over thirty kingdoms from here,
Where Dante's Hell has become inhabited,
Where is the kingdom of the dead was the edge,
moan, will lay the bed.


Fear me as kryzhaka,
Hold on as the plague Mongol,
I am a night jacket edge
Concerned about these lines hunger.
I dress in the morning is not replaced,
Carbolic not splesnul verbs,
I kicked in the door is not ink,
Who wrote about the famine.
What this torment no names,
I would have to know in advance,
But I was looking for them, and stamp
Shame that the efforts of.


( No ratings yet )
Share with your friends:
Boris Pasternak
Add a comment