Spring ice sometimes…

Spring ice sometimes
And mallow, spring bottomless,
bottomless spring, when
In Moscow, the end of the season,
The water comes in cold
Waist-horizon,
Depart early train,
Ponds lemon yellow,
And seeing, the wires,
Drawn in the backwaters.

When the streams sing song
About impassable mud,
And the night is clearly not about us
Mysterious and Chernomaz,
And the sky ugliness
As it narrator of mass
And the women before the flood,
How obayanye without a face
And the rest miner.

When some wade in chest,
And horses at the ford
As we have something to cry: spare,
As the area of ​​offspring.
But many in the pools behind
flooded tunes,
What put the shaft and backwaters
car flood.

What is it to me to insert the shaft?
my Spring, not Seth.
Your sadness hour coincided
With the transformation of light.

flow, black streams.
birthmarks, flow.
Take in its backwaters
outskirts constructions.

Their haze like clouds
dawn leisurely.
As August, hot-century
Stop them nodules.
The edges of the sunset melted ice.
And after the water, thawed,
Rinse jack floats
Manor without owners.
Farewell tears do not drain the
And cry the whole night,
It goes from the west soul,
She has nothing to do there.
She leaves, in the spring
citric yellowness
Sunset Creek Forest
They go at night.
She goes into humus
Flood, as in Noah,
And she is not afraid of one
bottomless spring.
Pre her edge, where the belt
Bow will drive not moan,
From heart girl hay
Do not cut out Festoon.
Before her the dawn, in front of her and me
Dawn yellow citric
vent, flooded spring,
In the spring, spring bottomless.
And as a small childhood
I shot the female share,
And should therefore be only a trace
her ways, do not hurt,
And since I only touched her
And it we expanse,
That is all I am happy to come to nothing
In revolyutsonnoy will.
About that after centuries and the story,
how, with not cope beauty,
Went not to trample Viewed
Her live ovary.
And the beauty of life just
And wings life beauties.
But durmanyl s lobotryas
And develop a bastard.
Crown of creation is not shaken
Involved and wallowed
In the darkness utaek and embellishment.
Hence our zeal in us
And our revenge and envy.

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Boris Pasternak
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