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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352725" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memory of Marina Tsvetaeva</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dismal day, with the weather inclement.<br>Inconsolably rivulets run<br>Down the porch in front of the doorway;<br>Through my wide-open windows they come.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But behind the old fence on the roadside,<br>See, the public gardens are flooded.<br>Like wild beasts in a den, the rainclouds<br>Sprawl about in shaggy disorder.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In such weather, I dream of a volume<br>On the beauties of Earth in our age,<br>And I draw an imp of the forest<br>Just for you on the title-page.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, Marina, I'd find it no burden,<br>And the time has been long overdue:<br>Your sad clay should be brought from Yelabuga<br>By a requiem written for you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All the triumph of your homecoming<br>I considered last year in a place<br>Near a snow-covered bend in the river<br>Where boats winter, locked in the ice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What can I do to be of service?<br>Convey somehow your own request,<br>For in the silence of your going<br>There's a reproach left unexpressed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A loss is always enigmatic.<br>I hunt for clues to no avail,<br>And rack my brains in fruitless torment:<br>Death has no lineaments at all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Words left half-spoken, self-deception,<br>Promises, shadows-all are vain,<br>And only faith in resurrection<br>Can give the semblance of a sign.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Step out into the open country:<br>Winter's a sumptuous funeral wake.<br>Add currants to the dusk, then wine,<br>And there you have your funeral cake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The apple-tree stands in a snowdrift<br>Outside. All this year long, to me,<br>The snow-clad city's been a massive<br>Monument to your memory.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With your face turned to meet your Maker.<br>You yearn for Him from here on Earth,<br>As in the days when those upon it<br>Were yet to appreciate your worth</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>
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<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=352725" data-title="In Memory of Marina Tsvetaeva de Boris Pasternak" data-description="Dismal day, with the weather inclement.
Inconsolably rivulets run
Down the porch in front of the doorway;
Through my wide-open windows they come.

But behind the old fence on the roadside,
See, the public gardens are flooded.
Like wild beasts in a..."></div>
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