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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352694" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping...</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping, <br>Of February, in sobs and ink, <br>Write poems, while the slush in thunder <br>Is burning in the black of spring. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through clanking wheels, through church bells ringing <br>A hired cab will take you where <br>The town has ended, where the showers <br>Are louder still than ink and tears. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where rooks, like charred pears, from the branches <br>In thousands break away, and sweep <br>Into the melting snow, instilling <br>Dry sadness into eyes that weep. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beneath - the earth is black in puddles, <br>The wind with croaking screeches throbs, <br>And-the more randomly, the surer <br>Poems are forming out of sobs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Original Version ??<br>Феврал& #1100;. Достать чернил и плакать! Писать о феврале навзрыд, Пока грохочу щая слякоть Весною черною горит. Достать пролетк у. За шесть гривен, Чрез благове ст, чрез клик колес, Перенес тись туда, где ливень Еще шумней чернил и слез. Где, как обуглен ные груши, С деревье в тысячи грачей Сорвутс я в лужи и обрушат Сухую грусть на дно очей. Под ней протали ны чернеют, И ветер криками изрыт, И чем случайн ей, тем вернее Слагают ся стихи навзрыд.</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=352694" data-title="Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping... de Boris Pasternak" data-description="Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping, Of February, in sobs and ink, Write poems, while the slush in thunder Is burning in the black of spring. Through clanking wheels, through church bells ringing A hired cab will take you where The ..."></div> </div> </div>
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