<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352683" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Sultrier Dawn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">All morning high up on the eaves <br>Above your window <br>A dove kept cooing. <br>Like shirtsleeves The boughs seemed frayed.<br>It drizzled. Clouds came low to raid <br>The dusty marketplace. <br>My anguish on a peddlar's tray <br>They rocked; <br>I was afraid. <br>I begged the clouds that they should stop. <br>It seemed that they could hear me. <br>Dawn was as grey as in the shrub <br>Grey prisoners' angry murmur. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I pleaded with them to bring near <br>The hour when I would hear <br>Tidbits of shattered songs<br>And your wash-basin's roar and splash <br>Like mountain torrents' headlong rush, <br>The heat of cheek and brow <br>On glass as hot as ice and on <br>The pier-glass table flow. <br>My plea could not be heard on high <br>Because the clouds <br>Talked much too loud <br>Behind their flag in powdered quiet <br>Wet like a heavy army coat, <br>Like threshed sheaves' dusty rub-a-dub <br>Or like a quarrel in the shrub. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I pleaded with them- <br>Don't torment me! <br>I can't sleep. <br>But-it was drizzling; dragging feet, <br>The clouds marched down the dusty street <br>Like recruits from the village in the morning. <br>They dragged themselves along <br>An hour or an age, <br>Like prisoners of war, <br>Or like the dying wheeze: <br>'Nurse please, <br>Some water.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Boris+Pasternak">Boris Pasternak</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352683" data-title="A Sultrier Dawn de Boris Pasternak" data-description="All morning high up on the eaves Above your window A dove kept cooing. Like shirtsleeves The boughs seemed frayed. It drizzled. Clouds came low to raid The dusty marketplace. My anguish on a peddlar's tray They rocked; I was afraid. I begg..."></div> </div> </div>

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