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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352745" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On Early Trains</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">This winter I was outside Moscow,<br>But when the time for work came round,<br>Through the blizzard, biting frost and snow,<br>I made the journey into town.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the hour I stepped outside the door<br>Not a soul could be seen on the street,<br>And through the forest darkness drifted forth<br>The crunching echo of my tramping feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the crossing I was greeted<br>By the willows of the vacant plot.<br>The constellations towered above the world<br>In the dark chill of January's pit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And usually, there behind the yards,<br>The number forty or the early mail<br>Would overhaul me, pulling hard,<br>But the six forty-five was my own train.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Suddenly some invisible tentacles<br>Would draw into a circle lines of light,<br>As a massive searchlight hurtled past<br>On to the viaduct out of the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once in the carriage's tuffy heat<br>I would allow myself to sink<br>Into the state of innate weakness<br>I imbibed with my mother's milk.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through all the struggles of the past,<br>Through all the years of war and want,<br>I gazed on Russia'a unique face<br>In silent awe and wonderment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Passing beyond this adoration,<br>I worshipped as I looked around<br>At countrywomen, students, workers<br>Living on the edge of town.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I could not see a single trace<br>Of servitude imposed by poverty.<br>Each new discomfort and each change<br>Was borne with lordly dignity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bunched close together in a group,<br>Boys and girls sat reading there,<br>Struck varied poses as they read,<br>Drinking in the words like vital air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Moscow greeted us in darkness<br>Already lined with silver light,<br>As we emerged from underground,<br>Out of the ambiguity of night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our future pressed against the rails,<br>Flooding my senses as they went,<br>With floral soap's lingering trace<br>And honey-cakes' enticing scent.</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=352745" data-title="On Early Trains de Boris Pasternak" data-description="This winter I was outside Moscow,
But when the time for work came round,
Through the blizzard, biting frost and snow,
I made the journey into town.

At the hour I stepped outside the door
Not a soul could be seen on the street,
And through the for..."></div>
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