Spring, You dampness mine in temples…

Spring, You dampness mine in temples.
ores migraine flower pot full.
withered ice. But the smell of hyacinth
That pain ores, wherewith he blossomed.

Converged light wedge. And this wedge
Commonly torn out from under the edges,
How floors leaf lindens and a cape
The shreds are torn rain fraction.

Where begins the empty skies,
When, everywhere you look, without rest
The steps, of views, in dreams and voices
break ground, century stucha zadvizhkoy!

Behind her on the move, in the evenings
And on the night dragged potholes,
As chain torn in half,
rusty, the ancient capital.

she rattles, once the shackles
Rattle able to move the prisoner,
It thunders and under cover of darkness
It goes to the suburban railway halt.

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Boris Pasternak
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  1. Pushkin

    Gross incompetence…

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